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IN  DOVER  ON  THE  CHARLES 


A  CONTRIBUTION  TO 


NEW  ENGLAND  FOLK-LORE 


BY  ALICE  J.  JONES 


"A  man  may  go  back  to  the  place  of  his  birth 
He  cannot  go  back  to  his  youth.'' 


1906: 

THE  MILNE  PRINTERY 

NEWPORT,    R.    I- 


Copyrighted 

BY  ALICE  J.  JONES 

1906 


GRATEFUL  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS  ARE  DUE  TO 
MB.  FRANK  SMITH  OF  DEDHAM,  THE  PUBLISH- 
ERS OF  "  OUTDOORS,"  AND  TO  THE  BOSTON 
TRANSCRIPT. 


IN  DOVER  ON  THE  CHARLES 


CHAPTER  ONE 

"Holds  fast  the  golden  mean, 
And  lives  contentedly  between 
The  little  and  the  great." 

OVER,  a  small  town  in  Norfolk 
County,  Massachusetts,  is  about  six- 
teen miles  from  the  State  House  in 
Boston.  It  borders  upon  the  Charles 
River  and  possesses  natural  features  of 
remarkable  interest  and  beauty.  Its  fertile  farms 
and  comfortable  homes  illustrate  a  seldom  por- 
trayed type  of  New  England  life.  Some  aspects 
of  home  and  village  life  belonging  to  the  first  half 
of  the  last  century  are  presented  in  these  pages, 
in  which  customary  forms  of  expression,  and  the 
names  and  uses  of  common  things  are  recorded 
with  fidelity. 

John  Battle,  born  1716,  married  Mehitable  Sher- 
man of  Connecticut.  Josiah,  their  son,  born  in 
Dover,  married  Lucy  Richards,  and  their  second 
daughter,  Lucy,  was  my  grandmother  Griggs. 


6  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

In  the  archives  of  the  State  House  at  Boston,  as 
I  am  informed  by  a  recent  writer,  is  preserved  the 
original  muster  roll  of  the  company  which  marched 
from  Dover  to  Lexington,  April  19,  1775,  under 
Captain  Ebenezer  Battle  of  Dedham.  The  name 
of  Josiah  Battle,  private,  appears  on  that  muster 
roll.  My  grandmother  has  told  us  that  her  father 
was  ploughing  in  his  field  some  distance  from  home, 
when  the  messenger  arrived  with  the  summons  to 
join  his  company.  The  "Minute  Man"  left  his 
plough  in  the  furrow,  put  his  horse  into  the  barn, 
and  then  found  that  his  young  wife  had  gone  after 
the  cows.  He  took  his  powder  horn  and  musket, 
filled  his  knapsack  with  "rye  and  ingin"  bread  and 
sausages,  and  was  on  his  way  to  meet  the  British 
before  she  returned. 

Josiah  Battle  owned  a  large  tract  of  land  on  the 
east  slope  of  Pegan  Hill,  divided  by  the  road  lead- 
ing from  Medfield  to  Natick.  He  lived  on  the  site 
from  which  John  Adams  removed  to  Elmira,  about 
forty  years  ago.  His  six  children  grew  up,  married, 
and  settled  on  portions  of  his  land,  within  such 
distance  of  his  own  house  that  he  could  visit  them 
all  in  a  morning  stroll. 

Lucy  Battle,  my  grandmother,  married  Reuben 
Griggs  of  Ashford,  Connecticut,  the  son  of  Nathan 
Griggs,  whose  uniform  and  sword  hung  in  our  garret, 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  f 

and  whose  Bible,  knives,  and  queer  old  spectacles 
are  now  in  my  possession.  Reuben  Griggs  was  a 
shoemaker,  and  worked  at  his  trade  in  Dover. 
After  his  marriage  he  took  his  wife  away  from 
Dover  for  several  years.  Between  the  years  1810- 
1815,  he  lived  in  Amherst,  Massachusetts,  and  in 
Wilmington,  Vermont,  and  afterwards  in  Ashford, 
Connecticut.  In  Amherst  he  pastured  his  cow  on 
the  present  site  of  Amherst  College  buildings. 
Noah  Webster,  the  lexicographer,  lived  in  Amherst, 
and  my  mother,  then  five  or  six  years  old,  used  to 
peer  through  the  garden  fence  to  watch  his  two 
pretty  and  amiable  daughters  among  their  flowers. 
I  have  a  letter  written  to  my  grandmother  by  Mrs. 
Catherine  Whiting  of  Wilmington,  Vermont,  in 
1815.  They  were  in  Ashford  on  my  mother's  tenth 
birthday,  and  a  friend  whom  my  mother  always 
held  in  loving  remembrance  made  for  her  a  little 
wooden  rocking-chair  which  her  grandson  now  has 
in  his  possession. 

Great-grandfather  Battle  offered  such  inducements 
that  his  daughter  returned  to  Dover  and  settled  upon 
the  farm  next  to  that  of  Uncle  Rufus.  I  have  never 
known  when  and  by  whom  the  house  was  built.  I 
have  the  original  deed  given  by  the  heirs  of  Josiah 
Battle  to  Reuben  Griggs  and  Lucy,  in  settling  the 
estate  in  1834.  In  later  years  the  name  came  to  be 


8  In   Dover  on  the  Charles 

spelled  Battelle.  The  Battelles  of  Strawberry  Hill 
and  the  "West  End  of  Dover,"  were  not  of  this 
family. 

Lucy,  only  child  of  Reuben  and  Lucy,  married 
Hiram  Walker  Jones,  April  4,  1830. 

My  grandfather,  Samuel  Jones,  of  South  Natick, 
seventh  in  the  line  of  descent  from  John  Alden, 
married  Mary  Walker  of  Marlboro.  His  sister  Polly 
became  the  second  wife  of  Lee  Claflin,  of  Hopkin- 
ton,  and  step-mother  of  William  Claflin  afterward 
governor  of  Massachusetts,  my  father's  manhood 
friend.  Lucy,  another  sister,  was  the  mother  of 
"Cousin  Sally"  of  Milford,  Massachusetts,  who  mar- 
ried the  Colonel  Johnson  for  whom  I  was  named. 
Sarah,  "Aunt  Parkhurst,"  was  the  mother  of  our 
valued  and  intimate  friends,  the  "Parkhurst  Cousins" 
of  Milford. 

My  father  was  born  in  South  Natick,  September 
4,  1807.  The  scenes  of  his  boyhood  are  depicted  in 
Mrs.  H.  B.  Stowe's  Old  Town  Folks,  but  the  Jones 
family  of  that  book  are  not  our  connections.  At 
the  present  time,  my  sister  and  I  have  no  knowledge 
of  any  relation,  however  remote,  bearing  the  name 
of  Jones. 

When  my  father  was  very  young,  his  mother  died, 
and  he  was  brought  up  in  the  family  of  Mr.  Nathan 
Phillips,  in  West  Dedham.  Mr.  Phillips  was  a  car- 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  p 

penter  and  builder,  and  from  him  my  father  learned 
the  trade  which  he  followed  until  the  year  1839. 
He  built  church  edifices  in  many  of  the  surrounding 
towns,  among  them  the  Unitarian  Meeting  House 
in  Sherborn,  and  the  Orthodox,  afterward  the  Cath- 
olic Church  in  North  Natick.  It  was  customary 
for  employers  to  furnish  their  men  with  liquor. 
After  listening  to  a  lecture  by  John  B.  Gough,  my 
father  resolved  to  depart  from  the  custom,  and  duly 
informed  his  men  of  his  purpose.  He  was  about  to 
"raise"  a  barn  for  Uncle  Rufus  Battle.  All  went 
well  until  the  "ridge  pole"  was  wanted  and  then  it 
was  not  to  be  found.  After  much  search,  my  father 
was  informed  that  it  would  be  forthcoming  as  soon 
as  the  men  were  supplied  with  their  "grog."  He 
stood  firm,  the  men  yielded,  and  the  barn  was 
raised.  On  that  day  and  occasion  the  question  of 
liquor  was  forever  settled  between  him  and  his  men. 
While  his  men  were  at  work  on  the  North  Natick 
meeting  house,  he  went  to  Boston  with  his  team 
to  buy  lumber.  While  his  wagon  was  loading  on 
T  Wharf,  he  was  struck  senseless  by  a  falling  tim- 
ber, and  on  the  third  day  after  was  brought  home 
accompanied  by  a  physician.  He  recovered  after 
months  of  critical  illness,  but,  one  side  having  been 
paralyzed,  he  was  never  again  able  to  carry  on  his 
trade. 


io  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

He  took  up  farming,  added  to  the  land  which  my 
grandfather  owned,  and  altered  and  improved  the 
buildings.  For  many  years  he  was  agent  for  the 
Dedham  Mutual  and  other  fire  insurance  companies, 
and  Justice  of  the  Peace.  He  held  many  town  and 
county  offices,  including  those  of  Selectmen  and 
Town  Treasurer.  He  was  spoken  of  as  Mr.  Jones 
or  Squire  Jones.  I  feel  safe  in  saying  that,  an  up- 
right, self-respecting  man  of  "good  judgment,"  he 
was  honored  and  trusted  by  all  who  knew  him.  In 
his  family  he  was  loved  and  obeyed,  not  feared  or 
dreaded.  I  never  knew  him  to  fly  into  a  passion, 
and  never  heard  anybody  say  "father  is  cross,"  but 
he  could  show  displeasure,  and  administer  deserved 
reproof.  He  had  the  gift  of  managing  men  so  as  to 
secure  the  best  results  from  their  efforts.  This 
power  was  doubtless  due  to  his  own  mental  and 
moral  poise,  and  to  the  care  with  which  he  planned 
all  the  details  of  work.  To  my  mother  he  was  in- 
variably courteous  and  considerate,  and  as  devoted 
as  a  lover.  Any  differences  of  opinion  between 
them  were  discussed  and  adjusted  in  private.  We 
never  dreamed  of  appealing  from  one  to  the  other. 
"Your  mother  knows  best,"  or  "Your  father  is  the 
one  to  decide  that,"  is  all  we  should  have  gained  by 
so  doing.  As  I  look  back  upon  my  mature  inter- 
course with  my  parents,  I  realize  the  truth  of  Miss 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  n 

Mulock's  saying  that  the  real  friendship  between 
us  must  have  had  its  root  and  nurture  in  respect  on 
both  sides.  His  sense  of  humor  made  my  father  a 
most  entertaining  companion,  and  those  who  knew 
him,  even  now  refer  to  "Mr.  Jones's  stories."  These 
stories  included  no  low  jokes  or  injurious  personali- 
ties, and  I  never  knew  him  to  utter  an  oath. 

After  my  brother  Waldo's  death,  followed  by 
that  of  both  grandparents,  my  father  sold  the  farm 
to  Mr.  Slavin,  the  present  owner,  and  removed  to 
the  Stephen  Jones  place  opposite  the  old  Josiah 
Battle  farm.  This  Mr.  Jones  was  no  connection  of 
ours.  In  1867,  he  sold  this  place  to  H.  R.  Stevens, 
and  bought  a  house  in  Franklin,  Massachusetts, 
where  he  died  December  2,  1875,  and  was  buried 
in  the  family  lot  in  the  cemetery  in  Dover. 

My  mother,  born  in  1809,  was  contemporary  with 
Darwin,  Gladstone,  Tennyson,  Lincoln  and  Holmes. 
The  Boston  known  to  Dr.  Holmes  she  knew;  the 
public  events  which  he  noted  were  the  events  in 
which  she  was  interested.  She  attended  district 
schools,  for  the  most  part  under  male  instructors, 
some  of  whom  were  men  of  marked  character.  Her 
taste  for  reading,  and  her  intelligent  interest  in  the 
world's  progress,  she  owed  to  "Master"  Whitney, 
and  to  the  hours  in  which  she  read  aloud  to  her 
father.  To  the  last  year  of  her  life  she  regularly 


12  In   Dover  on  the  Charles 

perused  the  daily  and  weekly  newspapers,  not  only 
the  local  and  news  columns,  but  the  leading  article 
and  editorial  notes,  prices  current,  and  especially 
the  records  of  the  legislature  and  the  "doings"  of 
Congress.  She  knew  the  "views"  of  all  the  prom- 
inent members  of  Congress,  and  was  familiar  with 
the  President's  policy.  She  had  her  opinion  of 
public  men  and  measures,  and  her  reasons  for  that 
opinion.  Fairy  tales,  and  purely  imaginative  writ- 
ings of  any  sort  had  no  interest  for  her,  from  lack  of 
plausibility.  "It  is  not  reasonable"  was  her  sweep- 
ing condemnation  of  any  story  which  she  considered 
untrue  to  life.  In  advanced  age,  when  she  was  too 
feeble  to  read  columns  of  fine  print,  she  would  look 
over  the  evening  paper,  and  by  means  of  headlines, 
select  the  articles  which  she  wished  to  have  read  to 
her.  She  enjoyed  poetry  of  religion,  patriotism, 
and  sentiment,  and  had.  many  favorites  in  verse. 

By  those  who  knew  her  in  youth,  I  have  been 
told  that  she  had  remarkably  beautiful  dark  brown 
hair,  and  that  in  the  "square  dances"  of  that  period 
she  excelled  by  her  ease  and  grace.  I  often  imagine 
her  growing  up  in  these  days  of  colleges  and  clubs, 
where  she  would  have  been  able  to  take  a  high  place 
among  educated  women.  As  it  was  she  did  not 
lack  scope  for  her  abilities.  Married  at  twenty, 
she  bore  eight  children,  of  whom  five  grew  to 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  ij 

womanhood,  in  a  household  which  included  old 
people,  children,  menservants,  womenservants,  and 
frequent  guests. 

In  my  father's  absence  or  illness,  she  carried  on 
his  work.  During  a  serious  illness,  her  head  was 
shaved,  and  her  soft  brown  hair  changed  to  snow 
white  bristles.  Although  only  thirty-three  years 
old,  she  conformed  to  the  inexorable  custom,  and 
donned  the  "false  front"  and  close  cap  which  she 
wore  for  the  next  twenty-five  years.  Then  her 
white  hair  had  become  fine  and  soft,  her  face  had 
aged  to  correspond,  fashion  had  changed,  and  she 
thankfully  discarded  cap  and  false  front. 

In  temperament  she  was  truly  fearless,  recogniz- 
ing danger,  and  taking  all  possible  precautions,  after 
which  it  was  of  "no  use  to  worry."  Carelessness, 
forgetfulness,  and  foolishness,  in  her  eyes,  were  with- 
out excuse.  Foolishness  meant  the  failure  to  do 
under  certain  circumstances  the  best  we  knew  or 
might  have  known  had  we  used  "common  sense." 
Praise  from  her  was  a  reward,  and  blame  a  long 
remembered  punishment.  Both  mother  and  father 
had  a  horror  of  debt,  and  a  realizing  sense  of  the 
value  of  "ready  money."  A  bargain  or  contract 
made,  just  so  much  money  was  then  considered  to 
have  been  withdrawn  from  their  available  resour- 
ces. To  be  entirely  out  of  any  one  household  ne- 


14-  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

cessity,  or  to  be  reduced  to  one  set  of  napery  or 
bedding  was  never  within  my  mother's  exper- 
ience. 

She  was  accustomed  to  say,  "Do  your  work  first, 
then  play."  "Always  dress  when  about  your  work 
so  that  you  will  not  be  ashamed  to  go  to  the  door 
if  anybody  comes."  "Go  just  as  you  are"  "Do 
your  part."  "Pay  him  what  he  asks"  "There  is 
as  much  in  saving  as  in  earning."  "Because  you 
have  money  by  you  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
spend  it."  "Always  keep  some  money  by  you." 
"Be  neighborly  but  do  not  meddle."  "If  you  can- 
not keep  a  secret,  how  can  you  expect  your  con- 
fident to  do  so  ?"  What  Senator  Hoar  in  his  Auto- 
biography says  of  his  mother's  true  democracy  is 
equally  true  of  my  mother.  Captain  William  Sher- 
man the  great  grandfather  of  Mrs.  Hoar,  was  my 
mother's  great,  great  grandfather. 

In  her  later  years,  my  mother's  courage,  forgetful- 
ness  of  self,  cheerful  patience  under  infirmities  and 
sorrows,  her  interest  in  an  ever  widening  circle  of 
friends,  all  are  among  the  memories  which  we 
cherish.  She  died  in  Franklin,  April  14,  1897,  aged 
eighty-seven. 

Eveline,  the  oldest  child,  after  her  marriage  to 
Mr.  J.  Q.  A.  Nichols,  lived  first  in  East  Randolph, 
now  Holbrook,  afterwards  in  Dover,  and  about  1862 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  15 

removed  to  Elmira,  New  York,  where  she  died  in 
1895,  surviving  her  husband  fourteen  years. 

Parthena  taught  the  district  school  in  West  Ded- 
ham  at  the  age  of  fourteen.  After  one  year  in  the 
Charlestown  Female  Seminary,  she  taught  in  Lan- 
caster, Massachusetts,  and  later  attended  the  Normal 
School  with  which  Dana  P.  Colburn  was  connected 
in  Providence.  About  1855  she  went  to  Newport, 
R.  I.,  to  be  assistant  in  the  Boy's  High  School,  Mr. 
I.  W.  R.  Marsh,  Principal.  In  May  1864,  she  be- 
came the  wife  of  Mr.  Charles  E.  Hammett,  Jr.,  of 
Newport.  She  died  in  1896,  and  her  husband's  death 
followed  in  1902. 

Mary  and  Arabelle,  the  children  next  in  age,  died 
in  early  youth,  and  infancy. 

Waldo,  the  youngest  child  and  only  son,  died 
when  eight  years  of  age. 

Inez  Lenore  remained  with  her  parents  during 
their  lives,  and  now  resides  in  Franklin. 

Alice,  a  teacher  in  the  public  schools,  lived  for 
many  years  in  Newport,  and  now  lives  in  Franklin. 


CHAPTER  Two. 

"Ghost-like  I  paced  round  the  haunts  of  my  childhood." 

ROM  a  country  road  which  curved 
around  the  base  of  a  steep  hill,  a 
circling  carriage-drive  crossed  a  grass 
plot  between  a  rounded  maple  and  a 
drooping  elm,  and  almost  touched  the 
doorstone  of  a  spacious  white  farm-house. 

Some  portions  of  the  structure  had  been  erected 
at  a  later  date  than  that  indicated  by  the  great  stone 
chimney  and  the  broad  roof  which,  in  the  rear,  sloped 
to  the  height  of  the  lower  story.  Natural  features, 
gentle  slopes,  sudden  descents,  and  level  spaces,  all 
had  been  considered  in  choosing  sites  for  the  house 
and  the  detached  farm  buildings. 

"The  white  rose  tree  that  spent  its  musk 
For  lover's  sweeter  praise." 

Across  the  south  front  a  narrow  grassy  yard  was 
enclosed  by  a  white  picket  fence.  On  either  side 
of  the  gateway  stood  a  tree-like  purple  "laylock" 
bush,  whose  branches  were  not  so  far  above  the 
ground  that  children  could  not  pluck  the  thick, 
smooth  leaves,  to  rend  them  with  a  "smack."  The 
up-springing  sprouts  under  these  trees  were  often 


In   Dover  on  the  Charles  17 

cut  with  scythe  or  sickle,  as  was  the  grass,  other- 
wise cared  for  by  the  dew,  rain,  sun,  and  snow. 

The  old  peach  tree  in  the  corner  showed  its  age 
in  the  peeling  bark  and  yellowed  leaves,  and  its 
late-ripening  fruit  was  blotched  with  mildew  even 
on  its  sunny  side. 

Blush  roses  faded  too  soon;  cinnamon  rose  petals, 
at  their  best,  were  faded,  crumpled,  and  set  awry; 
"single"  red  roses  fell  at  a  touch;  and  yet  the  thorny 
thicket  against  the  house  was  a  pretty  sight.  One 
tall  bush  beside  the  parlor  window  bore  old-fash- 
ioned white  garden  roses,  of  stock  brought  from 
France,  delightful  to  sight  and  smell  in  their  morn- 
ing freshness,  and  delightful  to  the  taste  as  well  in 
the  mysteriously  compounded  and  delicious  sweet- 
meat known  to  us  as  Grandmother's  "consarve  of 
roses."  Close  by  the  house  nestled  a  compact  little 
bush  bearing  many  crimson  blossoms  among  its 
tiny  leaflets,  the  Burgundy  or  Hundred-leaf  rose, 
prettier  far  than  its  kindred,  Province  or  Cabbage 
roses  of  modern  gardens. 

Rose-bugs  were  the  enemies  of  the  roses  them- 
selves, but  slug-eaten  foliage  was  happily  unknown. 
Hips  of  various  shapes  and  colors  succeeded  the 
roses,  and  decorated  the  leafless  branches  which 
stood  out  against  their  background  of  white-painted 
clapboards. 


i8  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

Short  blades  of  wide  grass  hid  the  edges  of  the 
sunken  door  stone,  on  one  side  of  which  grew  abed 
of  grass  pinks,  overhung  by  drooping  sprays  of 
flowering  almond.  No  blossoms  ever  appeared 
among  the  fragrant,  finely  cut  leaves  of  southern- 
wood or  boys'  love,  and  I  often  wondered  at  the 
fact.  I  know  now  that  Artemesia  Abrotanum  really 
blooms,  though  I  have  never  seen  its  flower.  Of 
the  annuals  which  filled  the  borders,  all  have  passed 
from  my  memory  except  tne  white  and  crimson 
"globes,"  the  eternal  flowers. 

Often  in  the  daytime,  always  at  dusk,  toads,  large 
and  small,  came  out  from  their  hiding-places  and 
hopped  over  the  door-stone.     From  one  direction 
or  another  the  monotonous  music  of  unseen  tree 
toads  sounded  throughout  mid-summer  days. 
"We  see  but  what  we  have  the  gift 
Of  seeing;  what  we  bring,  we  find." 

A  portion  of  the  door-yard  boundary  was  formed 
by  the  front  yard  fence,  next  to  whose  corner  post 
came  the  "gap,"  then  the  "great  gate,"  and,  paral- 
lel with  a  row  of  young  shade  trees,  the  rail-sur- 
mounted bank  wall  which  ended  at  the  stone  steps 
near  the  corner  of  the  "mill-house." 

Once,  within  my  remembrance,  a  cider  press  was 
set  up  in  this  mill-house,  but  its  horse  power  wheel 
was  mainly  used  to  run  the  threshing  machines 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  ig 

and  winnowing  mill.  When  the  men  were  upstairs 
busy  with  falling  grain  and  flying  chaff,  one  of  the 
children  was  stationed  below  stairs  to  start  and  to 
stop  the  horse,  and  to  see  that  he  kept  a  steady 
pace  in  his  journey  around  the  track  under  the 
great  wooden  wheel.  Sometimes  duty  grew  irk- 
some to  the  child,  and  the  wide  open  door  tempted 
to  a  comfortable  seat  upon  its  broad  threshold. 
Then  the  horse  moved  slowly  and  more  slowly  still, 
until  his  sudden  start  as  he  passed  the  door  within 
reach  of  the  flourished  whip  gave  a  corresponding 
jerk  to  the  machinery,  and  betrayed  the  culprit  to 
deserved  reproof. 

In  the  east  end  of  this  building  the  "covered 
carriage"  and  best  harness  were  kept  in  one  room, 
and  the  open  "express  wagon"  in  another.  Heavy 
timbers,  empty  barrels,  harrow,  cultivator,  wheel- 
barrows, wooden  horses,  and  other  cumbrous  tools 
were  stored  in  the  power  room,  the  "lower  part  of 
the  mill-house."  Some  years  before,  the  red- 
painted  carpenter's  shop  had  been  removed  from 
its  site  near  the  road.  Then  bench,  tool-chest,  and 
all  implements  of  the  craft  were  placed  in  the  upper 
story  of  the  mill-house,  where  newly  planed  boards, 
curling  shavings,  and  scattered  saw  dust  testified 
to  the  never  ceasing  repairs  and  improvements  in 
which  my  father  found  delight; 


20  In   Dover  on  the  Charles 

* 

Horserake  and  mowing  machine,  alternating 
with  the  roomy  yellow  sleigh,  occupied  another 
corner  of  this  "mill-house  chamber."  An  ideal 
place  for  play  on  a  hot  summer  morning  was  found 
in  this  spacious  room,  when  the  wide  double  doors 
stood  open  upon  a  grassy  plot,  among  whose  gravelly 
spaces  May-weed,  sorrel,  rabbit-foot  clover,  and 
five-finger  straggled  to  the  wheelruts  of  the  road 
beyond.  Under  the  pear  tree,  at  the  foot  of  the 
stone  steps,  stood  the  carefully  supported  "grin 
stone,"  its  lowest  point  just  touching  water  in  the 
moss-covered  trough  beneath. 

"Upon  the  budded  apple  trees 

The  robins  sing  by  twos  and  threes, 
And  ever,  at  the  faintest  breeze, 
Down  drops  a  blossom." 

A  "pair  of  bars,"  in  the  fence  extending  from  mill- 
house  to  "corn-house"  gave  entrance  to  the  apple 
orchard,  separated  by  stone-walls  from  the  high- 
way, the  next  estate,  and  "our  lane."  Its  sloping 
ground  effectively  displayed  the  green,  white,  and 
rose-colored  canopy  above  the  dandelion  sprinkled 
grass. 

Early  "jinctins"  (June-eatings?)  small,  yellow,  and 
shiny,  were  the  first  among  the  "early"  apples, 
followed  by  "early  sopsy vines"  (Sops-of-wine  ?) 
Heavy,  bulging,  purple-lined  "fall  sopsyvines" — no 


In   Dover  on  the  Charles  21 

other  baked  apples  had  such  color,  such  juice,  or 
such  flavor.  Metcalf  sweetings,  baldwins,  Roxbury 
russets,  Rhode  Island  greenings,  porters,  Newton 
pippins,  crow's  eggs,  and  Peck's  pleasants,  on  bend- 
ing boughs  and  fruit-strewn  ground,  I  seem  to  see 

them  now. 

"The  kindly  fruits  of  the  earth." 

As  a  protection  against  rats  and  mice,  the  corn- 
house  was  raised  upon  four  pillars,  and  entered  by 
removable  steps.  Always  in  perfect  order,  the 
well-filled  interior  made  a  pretty  picture,  which  in 
memory's  reproduction,  shows  my  Grandfather  as 
the  central  figure.  Scorning  one  of  the  new  patent 
cornshellers,  close  at  hand,  and  discarding  the 
customary  iron  shovel,  he  preferred  to  "shell"  corn 
by  means  of  an  iron-edged  board  which  was  placed 
across  the  large  red  tub,  and  upon  which  he  sat. 
In  time  with  his  rhythmic  rasping,  yellow  kernels 
fell  into  the  bushel  measure,  and  white  cobs  flew 
through  the  air. 

Crevices  in  the  high-slatted  bins  showed  closely 
packed  ears  of  yellow  "field"  corn,  and  of  rice-like 
popping  corn.  By  standing  on  tiptoe,  or  upon  an 
overturned  wooden  measure,  we  could  bury  our 
hands  deep  in  bins  of  winter  rye,  spring  rye,  buck- 
wheat, or  oats.  Great  white  ears  of  sweet  corn, 
dried  and  wrinkled,  and  seed  corn  of  other  sorts 


22  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

were  tied  together  and  suspended  by  their  turned- 
back  and  braided  husks. 

Harvesting  implements,  cradles,  flails,  rakes,  pitch- 
forks, scythes,  and  sickles;  corn-dropper,  and  canvas 
bags  for  the  sower's  grain;  clean  baskets,  wooden 
measures,  and  great  piles  of  grain  bags;  in  racks 
overhead,  or  on  pegs  against  the  bins,  all  were  ready 
for  use. 

Heavy    roller,    stone-drag,    horse-sled,    tip-carts, 
and  farm-wagon,  were  "under  cover"  in  the  "corn 
house  cellar"  which  was  entered  from  the  lane. 
"Bursting  with  hay  were  the  barns." 

Carefully  located, commodious,and  well-equipped^ 
the  barn  and  adjoining  buildings  were  planned  with 
a  view  to  saving  labor  in  necessary  work,  and  with 
consideration  for  the  needs  of  the  sheltered  animals. 

Tom  and  Bill,  the  black  farm-horses,  stood  side 
by  side,  opposite  Kate's  stall  and  the  usually  vacant 
ox-stalls.  In  winter  all  the  mows  were  rilled  to  the 
roof  above  the  scaffolds,  and  two  "hay-riggings" 
stood  against  the  barred  north  doors;  but  in  sum- 
mer, when  both  doors  were  thrown  open,  the 
dangerously  tempting  hay-cutter  and  ladders  pru- 
dently set  aside,  and  the  whole  wide  space  awaited 
the  incoming  loads  of  new-mown  hay,  then  the  barn 
floor,  furnished  and  peopled  by  our  imagination, 
became  a  charmed  spot. 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  23 

"Mowing  away"  had  great  interest  for  us;  rye, 
oats,  buckwheat,  and  bush-beans  were  threshed 
under  our  supervision.  Grandfather  was  expert  at 
"cradling"  grain,  and  one  of  the  last  to  give  up  the 
old-time  implement;  nor  was  he  less  skilful  in  swing- 
ing the  flail  with  the  hired  men  on  the  threshing 
floor.  Later  in  the  year,  corn  ears  were  piled  high 
between  the  mows.  Except  as  an  excuse  for  party, 
and  occasional  frolic,  husking-bees  belonged  to  the 
past,  and  the  men  husked  the  corn  on  rainy  days 
and  in  the  autumn  evenings. 

On  one  side  of  the  barn  floor,  under  high  mows 
of  English  hay,  cornstalks,  meadow-hay,  and  bed- 
ding straw,  were  openings  through  which  "feed" 
and  "litter"  were  put  down  for  the  cows  in  the  light 
and  airy  basement,  known  as  the  barn-cellar.  Just 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  was  a  row  of  stanchions, 
and  clean  dry  stalls,  where  milking-stools,  hoe,  fork, 
and  shovels  hung  on  high  pegs,  and  where  air  and 
sunlight  streamed  through  open  doors  and  windows. 

In  one  corner  of  this  basement  was  the  first  of 
adjoining  hog-pens,  the  third  and  last  being  adjacent 
to  the  cow-yard.  This  corner  pen  contained  the 
main  feeding-trough  with  a  contrivance  for  keeping 
back  the  squealing  swine  until  their  food  was  ready, 
and  the  trough  filled.  Near  by  was  an  overflowing 
tub  of  running  spring-water,  the  clean  swill-pails, 


24.  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

and  the  huge  meal-chest,  which  held  cotton-seed 
meal,  shorts,  or  corn.  Calf-pens,  in  the  north  end, 
could  be  entered  from  outside,  and  the  downward 
slope  to  the  door,  just  reversed  the  adjacent  ascent 
to  the  north  barn-door.  Sprinkling-pot,  brooms, 
and  shovels  were  in  daily  use,  and  children  could 
play  anywhere  on  the  premises  in  the  absence  of 
the  cattle. 

The  large  "cow-yard"  was  enclosed  on  the  west 
by  the  barn  which  overhung  the  yard,  and  formed 
a  covered  porch  for  the  cow-stable;  along  the  north 
end,  on  rising  ground,  a  barn-roofed  shed,  open  to 
the  south,  sheltered  the  salting-trough;  on  the  east 
was  an  embankment,  topped  by  a  high  stone  wall; 
at  the  south  end,  between  the  "lane  gate"  and  the 
smaller  door-yard  gate,  was  the  watering-tub  which 
stood  one-half  within  and  one-half  without,  because 
the  horses  were  watered  on  the  door-yard  side  of 
the  fence. 

"The  noisy  masons  of  the  eaves, 
The  busy  swallows  circling  near." 

Adjoining  the  barn  on  the  west,  and  on  a  line 
with  its  south  front  was  the  "harness-house,"  in 
which  a  waiting  horse  and  vehicle  could  stand  pro- 
tected from  the  weather.  It  contained  a  work- 
bench and  all  appliances  for  mending  and  cleaning 
harnesses.  Working  harnesses,  chains,  ropes,  pulleys, 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  25 

short  ladders,  pickaxes,  spades,  shovels,  crowbars, 
mud  shoes  for  horses,  horseblankets,  nose  feed- 
bags,  and  other  equipments  for  farm-work  were 
arranged  upon  pegs,  shelves,  brackets,  and  racks 
about  the  room.  A  small  cupboard  held  leather 
straps,  strings,  balls  of  "crow-line"  and  other  twine, 
grease  for  boots  and  for  axles,  and  bottles  for 
veterinary  use. 

Litters  of  young  pigs  in  the  cellar  basked  in  the 
sunshine  which  streamed  in  upon  them  through  the 
opened  scuttle  in  the  floor.  "Be  sure  to  close  the 
scuttle  if  the  wind  changes  or  a  shower  comes  up" 
was  the  frequent  injunction  when  the  men  started 
for  a  distant  field.  Barn-swallows  made  their  mud 
nests  under  the  eaves  over  the  wide  doorway. 
When  the  birds  were  busiest  at  their  work,  we 
watched  them  from  a  seat  in  some  wagon,  left  for 
the  time  in  the  middle  of  the  door-yard. 

"The  perched  roosts 
And  nests  in  order  ranged 
Of  tame  villatic  fowl." 

Next  to  the  harness-house  came  the  hen-house, 
clean  as  whitewash-brush,  broom,  and  fresh  gravel 
could  make  it.  On  one  side  of  the  sunny  outer 
room  was  the  large  stone  upon  which  oyster-shells, 
"scraps,"  and  bones  were  pounded;  the  shallow,  oval 
iron  kettle  of  water;  and  the  dough-board.  On  the 


26  In   Dover  on  the  Charles 

other  side  were  the  roosts,  both  high  and  low. 
"Laying"  or  "setting"  hens  retired  to  the  inner 
room,  where  box-nests  were  ranged  on  a  long,  wide 
shelf.  The  methodical  fowls  walked  up  an  inclined 
and  cleated  board  to  enter  the  nests  from  a  corri- 
dor at  the  back.  Dropping  the  hinged  fronts  of 
of  these  boxes,  gave  access  to  the  nests  and  their 
contents.  Setting  hens  were  "broken  up,"  by 
temporary  imprisonment  under  a  barrel. 

Mother  hen  and  her  brood  were  transferred  from 
the  nest  to  a  portable  coop,  set  upon  the  grass  not 
too  far  from  the  kitchen  door.  Through  spaces 
in  the  slatted  front  the  chickens  could  run  in 
and  out,  and  the  hen  could  stretch  out  her  neck 
to  cluck  a  warning,  to  eat  grass,  or  to  reach  the 
dough-dish  and  the  shallow — not  too  shallow — dish 
of  water.  Fresh  water  and  shoots  of  tender  grass 
besides  other  food,  were  supplied  several  times  aday. 
A  wide  board  laid  on  the  top  of  the  coop  projected 
to  form  an  awning,  and  was  kept  in  place  by  the 
weight  of  a  stone.  At  the  first  sign  of  an  impend- 
ing shower,  somebody  ran  from  the  house  to  "see 
to  the  chickens,"  to  hurry  them  into  the  coop,  and 
shut  them  in,  as  for  the  night,  by  placing  the  awn- 
ing board  upright  against  the  slats  with  the  stone 
for  a  prop.  To  save  the  valuable  time  of  one  hen, 
if  two  small  broods  "came  off"  the  same  day,  they 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  2f 

were  usually  placed  in  one  coop.  Rats,  weasels,  and 
skunks  sometimes  invaded  the  coops  at  night.  In 
the  day-time  by  a  peculiar  signal  which  was  in- 
stantly obeyed  by  the  huddling  chicks,  the  hen  gave 
noticethat  a  dreaded,  sailing,  swooping  pigeon-hawk* 
or  a  stronger,  fiercer  hen-hawk  was  circling  overhead. 
Neither  hens  nor  chickens  were  allowed  to  run  at 
large.  In  summer  the  sashes  were  removed  from 
the  latticed  doors  and  windows  of  the  hen-house 
and  all  sorts  of  green  food  was  "saved  for  the  hens." 
Temporary  runs  were  made  for  the  half-grown 
chickens.  One  of  our  regularly  assigned  tasks  was 
"watching  the  hens"  when  they  were  let  out  to 
ramble  for  an  hour  just  before  dark.  Whenever 
turkey  eggs  were  "set"  they  were  placed  under 
hens,  since  turkeys  reared  by  the  more  domestic 
fowls  were  less  likely  to  wander  and  die  in  the  wet 
grass  or  become  the  prey  of  prowling  enemies. 
Guinea  fowls  were  interesting  but  unprofitable. 

No  Committee  sent  by  the  Agricultural  Society 
could  more  surely  select  the  premium  flowers  and 
vegetables,  and  the  soil  in  highest  state  of  cultiva- 
tion, than  could  an  escaped  hen  in  search  of  a  place 
to  "muffle." 

"This  is  the  cock  that  crowed  in  the  morn." 

A  tiny,  disowned  chick,  just  out  of  the  shell,  Dick 
was  brought  into  the  house,  wrapped  in  cotton,  kept 


28  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

in  a  basket  for  a  few  days,  and  then  provided  with 
suitable  quarters  in  the  wood-house,  under  my 
charge.  He  became  my  pet,  and  I  became  his  out 
door  companion.  Grandmother  enticed  him  to  her 
room  to  eat  flies  which  she  killed  and  laid  between 
sheets  of  brown  paper. 

Fully  grown,  long-spurred,  gorgeous  in  plumage, 
Dick  would  escape  from  his  coop  and  revisit  the 
scenes  of  his  chickenhood  days.  However  often 
repeated,  it  was  somewhat  startling  to  have  a  bird 
of  such  a  feather  alight  on  one's  shoulder  or  top  of 
the  head,  or  try  to  perch  confidingly  upon  a  fore- 
finger. Dick  appeared  to  much  better  advantage 
when  he  ceased  his  canary  bird  tricks,  and  strutted 
into  the  middle  of  Grandmother's  room,  where  he 
would  give  a  lusty  crow  and  fly  upon  the  desk  to 
seize  his  well-remembered  paper  of  flies. 

"1  know  he  will  go  up  all  manner  of  streets." 

Tuxus,  the  pig,  was  literally  brought  up  by  hand. 
His  first  meal  was  obtained  by  sucking  milk  from 
my  forefinger,  and  I  afterwards  fed  him  with  a  silver 
teaspoon  until  he  was  able  to  drink  from  a  cup,  after 
which  time  it  must  be  confessed  that  he  ate  like  a 
pig.  He  grew  and  thrived  in  his  little  pen,  from 
which  I  released  him  for  an  occasional  frolic.  Once 
I  put  him  back  into  his  pen  on  the  east  side  of  the 
house,  passed  through  the  L,  and  sat  down  in  the 


Ik   Dover  on  the  Charles  29 

west  doorway  just  as  Tuxus,  having  made  the  cir- 
cuit of  the  main  house,  came  through  the  gap  in 
the  fence  and  jumped  into  my  lap.  Weeks  after 
this  occurrence,  I  was  sent  on  an  errand,  and  a  group 
of  boys  began  to  laugh  and  jeer  as  I  passed  them 
in  the  road  some  distance  from  home.  Looking 
back,  I  saw  Tuxus,  no  longer  a  little  pink-white  pig, 
making  the  dust  fly  from  the  middle  of  the  road, 
and  grunting  a  lesson  on  manners  for  the  benefit  of 
the  boys,  as  he  raced  after  me. 

"Not  Bruce  of  Scotland, 
Not  the  Bruce  of  Bannockburn." 

Bruce,  the  black  Newfoundland  dog,  must  have 
come  to  the  farm  not  far  from  the  time  when  I  be- 
gan to  run  about  out  of  doors,  for  he  took  the  charge 
of  me  from  that  time.  He  went  to  school  with  me 
every  morning,  keeping  close  by  my  side,  unmoved 
by  the  torments  which  the  larger  children  who 
joined  us  managed  to  inflict  upon  him,  but  ready 
to  fly  at  the  throat  of  the  first  who  tried  to  interfere 
with  me.  On  the  first  morning,  he  followed  me  in- 
to the  school-house,  but  his  reception  was  so 
boisterous  that  afterwards  he  was  satisfied  to  see 
me  safe  within  the  yard. 

A  sick  man,  who  watched  us  from  his  window, 
noted  the  contrast  between  the  dignity  with  which 
Bruce  ignored  his  tormentors  while  I  was  under  his 


jo  In   Dover  on  the  Charles 

protection,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  bounded 
through  the  fields  at  a  safe  distance  from  the  road, 
on  his  way  home. 

"Beeves  and  homebred  kine." 

Black  Jenny  Lind,  light-red  Fanny  Elscler,  dark- 
red  Ruth,  old  Line-back,  Jessie  Fremont,  and  Myra 
Clark  Gaines,  our  bovine  friends,  how  well  I  re- 
member, not  their  looks  alone,  but  their  character- 
istic ways,  for  they  were  born  on  the  farm  and 
lived  long  in  our  service,  while  many  other  cows 
were  bought  and  sold. 

Men  drove  the  cows  to  pasture  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, but  one  of  the  children,  with  Bruce,  often  went 
after  them  at  night.  The  "old  Plain"  was  an  out- 
lying pasture  within  sight  across  a  neighbor's  field, 
but  this  line  of  vision  was  the  hypothenuse  of  a 
triangle  whose  other  two  sides  were  formed  by  the 
public  road.  Usually  all  the  cows  were  waiting  at 
the  "bars,"  and  as  one  end  of  the  upper  rails  fell  to 
the  ground,  the  impatient  animals  clattered  over 
the  lowest  rail  and  filed  down  the  road  toward 
home.  Jennie  and  Line-back  had  the  trick  of 
staying  far  down  in  the  cranberry-meadow,  com- 
placently feeding  until  we  came  to  look  them  up. 
Bruce  barked  long  and  frantically  at  their  heels 
before  they  would  start  on  a  run  to  overtake  their 
companions,  long  out  of  sight.  Our  door-yard  and 


.  In   Dover  on  the  Charles  Ji 

grass-plot  needed  no  lawn-mower,  for  the  cows 
were  "watched"  and  allowed  to  feed,  sometimes 
without  the  "great  gate,"  and  sometimes  within 
the  enclosure,  that  they  might  become  cool  and 
rested,  and  be  in  proper  condition  when  the  men 
came  to  the  barn  at  milking  time. 

"The  steeds  were  champing  in  their  stalls." 

Tom  and  Bill,  the  equine  brothers,  worked  through- 
out their  lives  in  double  harness,  and  occupied  stalls 
side  by  side  except  for  two  nights  upon  a  memor- 
able occasion.  It  was  long  before  the  Air-Line  Rail 
Road  was  built,  and  these  horses  went  regularly  with 
heavy  loads  to  and  from  Boston,  over  the  Mill  Dam, 
stopping  at  the  "Corner"  for  luncheon  and  rest. 
On  one  of  these  trips  Bill  was  sold,  and  soon  after 
delivered  at  his  new  home,  the  "Corner." 

Bereaved  Tom  refused  to  eat,  but  watched  and 
listened  and  waited  for  the  coming  of  his  mate. 
On  the  second  morning,  ungroomed  Bill,  dragging 
a  broken  halter,  was  found  at  the  stable  door. 
Their  next  separation  was  caused  by  Bill's  death 
many  years  later.  A  small  ambrotype  shows  Tom 
and  the  farm-wagon,  my  father  and  Bruce  inci- 
dentally included  in  the  picture.  Grown  old,  faith- 
ful Tom  was  released  from  labor,  and  at  length 
placed  in  a  marked  and  honored  grave. 


J2  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

I  was  allowed  to  drive  Kate  harnessed  to  the  "top 
buggy,"  but  my  father  was  accustomed  to  say  that 
a  woman  could  drive  a  horse  wherever  a  horse 
wished  to  go. 

"The  harmless  necessary  cat." 

My  old  Hodge  was  named  for  Dr.  Johnson's  pet 
cat.  Hodge  was  a  "good  mouser,"  and  he  could 
not  understand  why  he  was  scolded  for  catching 
song-birds,  and  praised  for  bringing  in  rats  and 
mice. 

"All  duties,  when  thoroughly  and  perfectly  done  according  to  a 
standard  in  the  soul,  become  works  of  art." 

At  the  time  of  which  I  write,  my  Grandfather's 
active  labors  were  chiefly  confined  to  the  "chip- 
yard,"  a  large,  well-defined  plantain-bordered  space, 
beside  the  path  between  the  house  and  barn. 

While  the  "sledding  was  good,"  great  loads  of 
wood  and  logs  were  brought  from  the  "Deacon 
Haven  lot"  and  the  Clark  lot  woods."  Oak,  hickory, 
hard  pine,  soft  pine,  birch,  "fencing  stuff,"  and 
"apple-tree  brush"  ranged  in  high  piles  at  the  lower 
end  of  this  yard.  Toward  the  house,  splitting  log, 
sawhorse,  and  chopping  block,  woodsaw,  axe,  and 
bill  hook,  bettle  and  wedges,  wheelbarrow  and 
baskets,  all  were  brought  into  use.  In  due  time, 
the  well-seasoned  hard  wood,  oven  wood,  split  wood, 
round  wood,  pine  knots,  "air  tight  chunks,"  "little" 


In   Dover  on  the  Charles  jj 

wood,  and  kindling  wood,  with  the  pine  needles, 
shavings,  and  chips  were  systematically  housed  in 
the  capacious  wood-shed. 

"To  pick  up  a  basket  of  chips"  was  one  of  the 
regular  duties  of  a  summer's  day,  and  one  which 
we  often  dallied  over  rather  than  return  to  less  agree- 
able tasks.  Standing  upon  the  wood-shed  chopping 
block  enabled  one  to  reach  the  light  ladder,  clothes- 
line poles,  long-handled  caterpillar  brush,  and  snow 
shovel,  which  were  kept  in  the  racks  overhead. 

"How  could  such  sweet  and  wholesome  hours, 
Be  reckoned  but  with  herbs  and  flowers?" 

Passing  from  the  chip-yard  through  the  back 
room  to  the  "west  door"  brought  us  under  the  great 
horse-chestnut  tree,  and  near  to  the  bench  where 
tin  cans  and  pans  were  set  out  to  dry. 

Of  the  two  diverging  paths,  the  one  close  to  the 
house  led  by  flower  beds  and  currant  bushes  to  the 
Well  Curb.  This  tall  white  frustum  of  a  pyramid 
was  erected  over  a  quicksand  well  which  was  used 
solely  as  a  refrigerator  where  cans  of  milk,  and  pails 
of  butter,  and  food  were  lowered  far  out  of  sight 
by  four  stout  ropes.  Nothing  in  this  well  was  ever 
molested,  though  the  gate  in  the  adjacent  picket 
fence  was  but  a  few  yards  from  the  public  road. 

Milky-juiced  cypress  spurge  sprang  up  under  the 
fence.  Among  the  stones  at  the  base  of  the  curb 


34  In   Dover  on  the  Charles 

grew  luxuriant  stalks  of  live-for-ever  (Sedum  Tele- 
phium,)  from  whose  carefully  bruised  leaves  we 
made  and  inflated  tiny  watery  bags.  No  sedum 
blossoms  were  ever  seen.  Years  had  passed  before 
I  understood  why  I  found  myself  able  to  recognize 
so  many  plants  by  their  leaves  with  no  recollection 
of  having  seen  their  blossoms.  My  father  never 
tolerated  weeds,  and  he  cut  short  their  career  before 
they  had  time  to  "blossom  and  go  to  seed." 

A  small  butternut  tree  grew  near  the  well,  beside 
the  currant  bushes.  Impatient  fingers  were  stained 
"butternut  color"  by  the  juicy  covering  of  the  un- 
dried  nuts.  Circular  brooches,  sawed  from  the  nuts 
and  supplied  with  bent-pin  fastenings,  were  at  one 
time  much  in  vogue  among  schoolgirls.  This  must 
have  been  the  period  of  peach  and  cherry-stone 
baskets,  and  of  braided  horsehair  rings. 

Not  far  from  the  butternut  tree,  flower-beds  held 
love-in-the-mist;  red  and  "variegated  poppies"  old 
maid  pinks  and  velvet  marigolds;  gillyflowers;  Canter- 
bury bells;  balsams;  single  petunias,  purple  and 
white;  yellow  daffies;prince's  feather; honesty;  ladies' 
delights;  and  a  light-blue  star-flower  which  we 
called  Star  of  Bethlehem.  I  have  never  seen  that 
star-flower  elsewhere,  nor  have  I  seen  any  recog- 
nized description  of  the  plant  under  that  or  any 
other  name,  Seed-bearing  stalks  of  honesty,  re- 


taining  only  the  oval,  satiny,  dividing  membrane 
of  the  pods  were  carefully  gathered,  and  combined 
with  dried  grasses  for  winter  bouquets. 

"It  is  not  simply  beets  and  potatoes,  and  corn  and  string  beans 
that  one  raises  in  his  well-hoed  garden,  it  is  the  average  of  human 
life." 

Below  the  horse  chestnut  tree,  half  way  down 
the  grassy  slope,  two  "orange  sweeting"  trees  almost 
touched  the  ground  with  their  wide-spreading 
branches.  Then  came  more  currant  bushes,  red 
and  white,  a  porter  apple  tree,  peach  trees,  white 
and  purple  plums,  quince  bushes,  more  young  apple 
trees,  pear  trees,  the  tub  of  running  water,  and 
then  the  vegetable  garden.  Much  below  the  level 
of  the  road,  the  garden  was  enclosed  on  that  side 
by  a  bank  wall  surmounted  by  a  four-inch  rail  held 
edgewise  in  iron  supports.  Against  this  wall, 
behind  the  well  curb,  was  a  sort  of  wild  garden, 
where  tall  black  currant  bushes,  and  red  raspberry 
canes  grew  among  brakes  and  stalks  of  caraway, 
and  bent  over  low  lying  bloodroot,  coltsfoot,  and 
gold  thread. 

All  sorts  of  vegetables  for  our  table  were  suit- 
ably distributed  from  the  rich,  heavy  soil  next  to 
the  road  to  the  higher,  drier  ground  beside  the 
clothes  drying  yard.  Beets,  turnips,  onions,  pars- 
nips, carrots,  radishes,  newly  introduced  tomatoes, 


j6  In   Dover  on  the  Charles 

peppers,  squashes,  cucumbers,  cabbages,  cauli- 
flowers, lettuce,  sweet  corn,  string  beans,  peas,  early 
and  late,  rhubarb,  strawberry  tomatoes,  and  shell 
beans,  kidney,  lima,  cranberry,  and  horticultural; 
all  these  were  "handy  to  the  house." 

A  small  plot  was  devoted  to  peppermint,  spear- 
mint, and  sage;  saffron,  valuable  for  its  medicinal 
yellow  petals,  which  must  be  pulled  off  every  morn- 
ing; and  sives,  whose  tender,  finely  chopped  leaves 
were  food  for  hens.  I  have  forgotten  most  of  the 
"roots  and  herbs,"  and  their  uses.  Thoroughwort, 
tansy,  pokeroot,  hardhack,  mullein,  penny  royal, 
yellow  dock,  yarrow,  wormwood,  and  pumpkin 
seeds  I  remember  to  have  seen  hanging,  in  paper 
bags,  against  the  garret  rafters. 

"The  golden  buttercup,  the  grass,  the  leaves." 

A  wide  red  gate  opened  from  the  door-yard  into 
the  "lane,"  a  long,  wide,  level,  grassy,  cart-path, 
bounded  on  the  east  by  well-fenced  fields  of  "grass 
land"  and  "ploughed  ground,"  and  ending  at  the 
"Clark  Lot  bars." 

Along  its  stone  wall,  on  its  orchard  side,  wild 
red  raspberry  and  thimbleberry  bushes  were 
allowed  to  grow.  Few  berries  plucked  from  these 
bushes  found  their  way  to  kitchen  or  dining-room. 
They  were  destined  to  be  strung  like  beads  upon 
long  stems  of  timothy  grass,  and  fated  to  be  eaten 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  37 

as  soon  as  strung.  Young  children  liked  to  play 
in  the  sand  heap  under  the  corn-house,  where  they 
were  out  of  doors,  protected  from  the  sun  or  rain, 
and  we  all  roamed  the  lane  at  will. 

Here  we  picked  great  bunches  of  yellow-eyed 
bird-foot  violets,  or  made  bouquets  of  dandelion 
"curls."  Buttercups  held  under  each  other's  chins 
usually  cast  a  yellow  shadow  and  proved  that  we 
"loved  butter."  Fortunes  were  told  by  means  of 
"white  weed"  petals,  but  I  could  never  decide 
whether  "rich  man,  poor  man,  beggar  man,  thief, 
doctor,  lawyer,  merchant,  chief,"  referred  to  four  or 
eight  possible  husbands,  and  "chief"  in  my  mind, 
was  always  associated  with  scalplock  and  tomahawk. 
When  three  puffs  of  breath  failed  to  blow  all  the 
tufted  seeds  from  a  dandelion  globe,  the  shout 
arose,  "Your  mother  wants  you !  "  If  the  drop  of 
juice  pressed  with  thumb  nail  to  the  top  of  one 
grass  stalk  "took  off"  the  drop  from  the  one  held 
against  it,  then  your  "wish  would  come  true." 
"I  wander  in  the  woodland  paths  once  more." 

On  the  left  of  the  "bars"  stretched  the  dim  recesses 
of  the  "Clark  Lot  Woods."  We  spent  hours  at  a 
time  among  the  hollow  trunks,  the  fallen  branches, 
the  gnarled  and  mossy  roots,  and  the  shifting 
shadows,  on  the  borders  of  these  woods. 

Acorns,  partridge   berries,   bearberries,   checker- 


j 8  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

berries,  wild  strawberries,  low  blueberries,  puff  balls, 
curious  fungi  and  cup  mosses,  besides  Indian  pipes, 
and  many  familiar  but  unnamed  wild  flowers,  were 
our  successive  playthings. 

Beyond  the  woods  and  the  open  fronting  space, 
in  boggy  regions  when  entering  horses  must  wear 
the  clumsy,  square,  wooden  mud-shoes,  was  the 
meadow,  the  place  of  turtles,  water  snakes,  musk- 
rats,  and  of  historic  beavers.  There  we  could  not 
venture,  but  were  glad  that  grandfather  dared  go 
after  yellow-blossomed  cowslip  sprays,  a  dainty 
unsurpassed  by  young  beet  tops,  "milk  weed 
sprouts"  or  "dandelion  greens."  We  went  far 
enough  to  find  white  violets  hidden  under  the 
leaves  of  skunk-cabbage. 

"Where  the  freshest  berries  grow." 

"John  Ricker  Hill, "long  and  narrow,  the  base  of 
Brown's  Hill,  was  opposite  our  house  and  orchard. 
What  had  been  left  an  unsightly  gravel  bank  when 
the  road  was  cut  through,  my  father  had  improved 
by  building  a  "face  wall"  at  its  foot,  and  planting  a 
row  of  evergreen  trees  half  way  up  to  its  level  top. 
Along  its  boundary  wall,  and  in  many  a  grassy 
nook,  the  largest  strawberries  and  high  blackberries 
were  gathered  as  fast  as  ripened.  The  reddest, 
thorniest  of  barberries  succeeded  the  wild  roses  in 
the  south  wall  thicket. 


In   Dover  on  the  Charles  jp 

"However  small  it  is  on  the  surface,  it  is  four  thousand  miles  deep, 
and  that  is  a  very  handsome  property." 

A  trip  to  Grandmother's  valued  inheritance,  the 
Natick  Pasture,  was  an  event  to  be  enjoyed  in  an- 
ticipation, as  well  as  in  the  excursion  itself. 

There  was  the  bustle  of  preparation  at  the  barn, 
varied  with  the  season  and  the  project.  "Salting" 
the  young  cattle;  picking  sweet  apples  or  juicy, 
coarse-grained,  puckery  "baking"  pears;  cutting 
hay  or  mowing  bushes;  mending  a  "post  and  rail" 
fence,  or  building  a  stone  wall:  any  one  of  these 
may  have  been  the  serious  object  of  the  expedition. 
The  pleasure  seekers  in  the  party  had  in  mind  the 
short  ride  through  the  village  street  to  the  Cleave- 
land  place,  and  the  long,  delightful  ride,  "by  right 
of  way"  through  fields,  woods,  and  berry  pastures, 
where  jolt  succeeded  jolt  as  the  wheels  passed  over 
embedded  rocks  into  deep  worn  ruts.  Arrived  at 
Pegan  Hill  Lane  and  the  pasture,  we  revelled  in  its 
berries,  fruits,  and  flowers,  gathered  hickory  nuts 
and  acorns,  and  explored  the  "Indian  cellar  hole," 
ever  with  a  wholesome  dread  of  snakes.  Tired  out 
at  last  we  sat  in  the  shade  to  watch  the  birds  and 
squirrels,  or  rehearse  the  tales  of  vanished  Indians, 
until  it  was  time  to  go  home. 

"I  come  to  pick  your  berries." 


4-O  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

Cranberry  picking  began  early  in  September. 
Before  the  bogs  were  ready  for  the  men  and  their 
rakes,  the  fruit  on  the  "upland,"  exposed  to  the 
frosts,  lay  among  the  dry  and  grassy  hummocks 
like  great  crimson-purple  beads,  strung  on  a  woody 
thread.  Mother  and  children  alike  looked  forward 
to  these  September  days,  and  the  best  outdoor  ex- 
cursions of  the  year.  The  first  "good"  day,  before 
the  dew  was  "off,"  found  us  in  the  "old  plain" 
pasture. 

Blueberry  and  huckleberry  bushes,  sweet  fern, 
"mountain  cranberries"  (bearberries),  acorns,  lichens, 
stalks  of  pennyroyal,  and  life  everlasting,  goldenrod 
plumes  and  aster  panicles,  all  were  brushed  aside, 
or  trampled  under  foot,  when  we  wandered  from 
the  narrow  wagon  road  which  led  to  the  low-lying 
meadow. 

Luncheon  baskets,  and  wraps  safely  bestowed 
under  the  old  oak  tree  by  the  boiling  spring,  we 
hastened  to  the»  remembered  spots  where  shining 
fruit  was  scattered  over  the  brown  grass  among 
autumn-tinted  leaves,  on  low-creeping  vines.  "Pick- 
ing by  hand"  was  the  rule,  but  my  small,  short- 
handled  rake  would  sometimes  scoop  a  double 
handful  from  a  hollow  between  hillocks  or  moss-cov- 
ered stones.  Our  small  baskets  filled,  they  were  emp- 
tied into  bags  under  the  oak  tree,  and  filled  again. 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  4.1 

Besides  spots  "thick"  with  berries,  we  found 
solitary  wild  roses  blooming  among  the  reddened 
hips,  fringed  gentians,  cardinal  flowers,  curious  burs 
and  pods  on  leafless  stalks,  ground  birds'  nests,  and 
countless  living,  crawling,  hopping,  running,  flying 
things.  Our  baskets  filled  rapidly  in  spite  of  all 
these  side  attractions,  because  we  were  paid  the 
highest  market  price  for  all  we  picked.  One  year 
my  quarts  became  bushels,  and  my  bushels  more 
than  filled  a  barrel.  Late  afternoon  brought  my 
father  and  the  farm-wagon,  into  which  the  tired, 
sun-burned,  happy  pickers  clambered  among  the 
heavy  bags  and  baskets,  and  we  went  home  with 
the  cows. 

The  entire  crop  gathered  and  spread  in  the  "barn 
chamber"  until  dry  and  ''turned  red,"  the  hand  pow- 
er winnowing  mill  was  brought  from  the  mill  house 
chamber  into  the  door  yard,  and  the  cranberries 
were  freed  from  dirt  and  tiny  leaves.  A  trough- 
like  sieve,  set  upon  trestles  of  unequal  height, 
received  the  berries  which  were  passed  along  the 
incline  from  one  compartment  to  another,  until, 
screened  and  "picked  over,"  they  fell  into  barrels 
which  were  well  shaken  and  then  "headed  up."  All 
this  was  men's  work,  but  women  and  children  were 
welcomed  as  helpers  in  the  tedious  picking  over. 
"To  every  sweet  its  sour." 


42  In   Dover  on  the  Charles 

A  high.well-lighted  basement  under  the  woodshed 
and  pumproom  was  known  as  the  vinegar  cellar.  It 
was  furnished  with  hogsheads,  barrels,  kegs,  bungs, 
plugs,  spigots,  taps,  mallet,  auger,  gimlet,  measures, 
"tunnels,"  skids,  and  pails. 

In  a  long  row,  on  a  sort  of  platform,  lay  hogsheads 
of  cider  in  the  successive  stages  of  the  process  by 
which  new  cider  was  arrested  on  its  way  to  become 
"hard"  cider,  and  was  made  into  sharp  vinegar. 

A  suitable  quantity  of  molasses  was  added  to  the 
new  cider  to  promote  fermentation;  froth  issued 
from  the  open  bung  hole  in  a  towering  meringue, 
a  color  scheme  in  cream,  yellow,  brown,  and  black; 
the  first  "working"  ended,  and  impurities  precipi- 
tated or  thrown  off  at  the  bung,  the  liquid  was 
carefully  "drawn  off,"  and  filtered  through  a  straw- 
filled  wooden  tunnel  into  a  clean  cask,  and  allowed 
to  work  again.  This  process  was  continued  with 
great  care  and  frequent  testing  until  that  which 
entered  the  first  cask  as  sweet  cider,  left  the  last 
hogshead  pure  cider  vinegar  which  was  sold  to 
regular  customers,  the  principal  being  Billings' 
Store,  Roxbury. 

"We  may  build  more  splendid  habitations,  fill  our  rooms  with 
paintings  and  with  sculptures,  but  we  cannot  buy  with  gold  the  old 
associations." 

Once  on  the  broad  stone  doorstep,  it  was  easy 


In   Dover  on  the  Charles  4.3 

to  press  the  thumb  piece  of  the  great  iron  latch, 
open  Grandmother's  door,  step  across  the  entry, 
dimly  lighted  from  above  the  winding  stair-case, 
and  come  into  Grandmother's  room. 

In  summer  the  green  blinds  were  partly  closed, 
but  in  winter  the  south  sun  shone  through  the 
many-paned  white  curtained  windows  upon  the  box 
of  growing  lavender  which  stood  beside  the  "noon- 
mark"  on  the  window  sill.  The  wooden  clock 
between  the  windows,  the  brass  ornamented  ma- 
hogany desk,  the  round-cornered  two-leaved  table, 
the  long,  high-backed  red  settle,  the  iron  "fire 
frame"  trimmed  with  shining  brasses,  all  had  be- 
longed to  preceding  generations.  Grandmother 
valued  the  old,  and  took  kindly  to  the  new. 

Her  cooking  stove  stood  at  some  distance  from 
the  chimney,  and  the  funnel  entered  the  flue  high 
above  the  ancient  fire  place,  where  she  had  an 
occasional  fire  upon  the  hearth.  The  kettles  were 
hung  from  pot  hooks  on  the  crane,  and  bannocks 
were  baked  upon  the  "bannock  boards"  set  upon 
the  hearth  before  the  fire  and  supported  by  a  flat- 
iron  at  the  back.  She  never  indulged  us  with  the 
sight  of  meat  roasting  on  a  "spit,"  but  she  used  the 
"bake  oven,"  and  set  the  little  iron  basin  on  its 
three-legged  "trivet"  over  the  coals  in  one  corner 
of  the  hearth.  This  iron  basin  was  always  used  on 


44.  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

the  stove  when  cream  toast  or  chicken  fricassee 
was  prepared,  and  beef-a-la-mode  could  be  "warmed 
up"  just  right  in  no  other  vessel.  The  small  brass 
kettle,  bright  as  gold,  guarded  by  a  flat  iron  ring, 
was  used  on  the  stove,  and  no  hasty  pudding,  rye 
pudding,  or  samp  can  ever  equal  that  which  it 
contained.  When  the  round-bottomed  three-legged 
"iron  pot"  was  used  as  a  doughnut  kettle,  it  also 
required  the  encircling  ring,  being  too  small  for  the 
hole  in  the  top  of  the  stove.  The  tiny  "iron  skillet" 
which  had  three  tall  legs  and  a  rat-tailed  handle 
was  even  then  called  ancient,  and  I  never  saw  it 
used.  Many  more  quaint  and  convenient  utensils 
and  much  old  china  and  pottery  were  in  Grand- 
mother's neat  "buttery."  The  stone  mortar  and 
pestle  which  the  Pegan  Indians  had  used;  covered, 
wooden  hooped  pails  of  different  sizes,  painted  red 
or  blue,  which  held  corn  meal,  buckwheat  flour,  or 
dried  apples;  the  "blue  piggin"  which  resembled 
a  small  wooden  pail  except  that  one  stave  rising 
above  the  rest  was  shaped  as  a  handle;  a  tall, 
"brown  earthern  pailful  pot"  held  "biled  cider 
apple  sauce.".  One  queer  high-shouldered  green 
glass  bottle  was  kept  filled  with  balm  of  Gilead 
buds  steeped  in  rum,  a  sovereign  balm  indeed  for 
cuts  and  bruises.  From  this  remedy  I  first  learned 
one  of  life's  useful  lessons,  bravely  to  bear  the 


In   Dover  on  the  Charles  4.5 

present  smart  for  the  sake  of  future  healing. 
Petty-morel  berries  (Aralia  racemosa)  steeped  in 
New  England  rum,  elderberry  wine,  blackberry 
cordial,  cherry  rum,  black  currant  jelly,  and  other 
medicinal  supplies  were  always  at  hand. 

Amongthedishesof  shining  pewter, the  large  plate, 
thequartbasinof  hammered  metal, and  the  porringer, 
all  bore  my  great,  great  grandmother's  initials,  H.  R. 

An  ancient  round  iron  "waiter"  hefd  the  white 
teapot  which  would  contain  a  cupful  of  water,  used 
in  the  time  of  the  Revolution  when  tea  was  scarce 
and  high,  an  old  Delft  cup  and  saucer  of  corres- 
ponding size,  and  a  graceful  pointed-nosed  cream 
white  pitcher  whose  lower  half  was  emerald  green. 
The  beautiful  silver  teaspoon  marked  H.  R.  is  four 
inches  long,  and  shows  that  it  was  wrought  by  hand, 
and  the  bowl  welded  to  the  handle.  Another  tea- 
spoon,belonging  to  the  next  generation, is  somewhat 
larger.  The  greater  the  grandmother,  the  smaller 
the  spoon.  My  grandfather  always  ate  from  a  large 
white  plate  with  a  wavy  edge  of  deep  blue.  One  set 
of  steel  knives  had  bright  green  bone  handles.  Bright, 
deep  blue  pitcher,  sugar  bowl  and  teapot  which 
showed  upon  each  side  a  deer  without  antlers,  were 
accompanied  by  handleless  cups,  and  the  jet  black 
"citron  sauce"  bowl  bore  a  floral  pattern  in  relief. 

Close  by  the  covered  wood  box  stood  a  wooden 


^6  In   Dover  on  the  Charles 

pail  of  shavings  and  a  basket  of  clean  chips.  The 
long  disused  brick  oven  was  then  a  sort  of  cupboard, 
but  our  interest  centered  in  the  high  chimney  cup- 
board and  its  treasures.  Here  was  the  wooden 
covered  book  of  Indian  stories  which  had  the  wood 
cut  of  Mr.  Dustin  and  his  children;the"American  Pre- 
ceptor;" the  old  "Third  Part,"  a  school  reading  book 
in  my  mother's  day;  "Reuben  Kent;"  "Little  Henry 
and  his  Bearer;"  "The  New  England  Primer;"  "The 
Badge;"  and  an  ancient  broadsheet  of  poetry,  "Cat- 
skin."  Besides  these  books  the  cupboard  contained 
the  clasp  knife,  brass-handled  pen  knife,  and  the 
pocket  Bible  which  great  grandfather  Nathan  Griggs 
carried  through  the  Revolutionary  War. 

Grandfather's  arm  chair  stood  beside  the  stove 
where  the  light  came  over  his  left  shoulder  as  he 
sat  reading,  a  blue  and  white  bandanna  handkerchief 
thrown  over  his  bald  head.  The  green  wooden 
chairs  were  decorated  with  gilding  and  painted 
shells  and  flowers.  Braided  rag  mats  were  placed 
here  and  there  upon  the  carpet  where  the  "wear" 
was  likely  to  come.  Across  the  plastered  ceiling 
ran  a  large  painted  beam.  The  walls  were  made 
of  wide,  matched  boards  which  like  the  prominent 
corner  posts,  had  received  many  a  coat  of  lead- 
colored  paint. 


In   Dover  on  the  Charles  4.7 

In  the  adjoining  bedroom  stood  the  tightly-corded 
four-poster,  straw-bed,  feather-bed,  bolster,  pillows 
with  long,  overhanging  "cases,"  snowy  valance,  and 
patchwork  quilt.  The  other  furniture  consisted  of 
a  mahogany  bureau  over  which  hung  a  small  mirror, 
a  low  chair,  an  arm  chair,  and  an  ancient  table 
which  folded  so  that  one  leaf  would  double  upon 
the  other  or  stand  upright  against  the  wall.  The 
edges  of  the  leaves  and  the  front  legs  were  prettily 
inlaid  with  bits  of  wood. 

The  blue  and  white  woven  counterpane  was  even 
then  laid  carefully  aside  because  of  its  associations. 
"O  how  full  of  briars  is  this  working-day  world." 

Work  inside  the  house  was  termed  house-work, 
earning,  and  sitting-work.  Kitcheti,  back  room,  and 
cellar,  like  all  other  parts  of  the  house,  were  arranged 
and  furnished  with  a  view  to  "making  work  easy." 

Soon  after  my  mother  was  married,  one  of  the 
earliest  made  cooking  stoves  was  set  up  in  front  of 
her  enormous  kitchen  fire-place.  Its  huge  cylindri- 
cal sheet  iron  oven  threw  out  overpowering  heat 
upon  the  head  of  the  person  who  used  the  "elevated 
oven,"  and  it  was  replaced  by  one  improved  pattern 
after  another.  From  the  lettered  hearth  of  the  "Bay 
State"  stove,  I  took  my  first  lesson  in  the  alphabet. 

Spring  water  was  drawn  from  a  faucet  at  one 
kitchen  sink,  next  to  which  was  a  large,  built-in 


j.8  In   Dover  on  the  Charles 

case  of  drawers  under  a  wide  shelf,  a  dish  closet, 
and  then  the  large  dry-sink,  where  dishes  were  al- 
ways washed,  and  cooking  operations  carried  on. 

Pump-room  it  was  always  called,  but  a  wooden 
faucet  took  the  place  of  a  pump  in  the  large  un- 
plastered  room  adjoining  the  kitchen.  One  corner 
of  this  room  was  the  laundry  and  held  the  necessary 
utensils,  and  supplies.  Often  used  steel-yards,  large 
and  small,  hung  on  convenient  nails.  Pantry,  store- 
room, and  milk-room  combined,  occupied  an  ad- 
joining space  in  this  wing.  No  cruel  "one-step 
down"  led  to  our  wood-shed.  Children's  arms  were 
scarcely  able  to  throw  back  the  wide  top  of  the 
long  meal  chest.  Standing  on  tip-toe,  we  contrived 
to  reach  the  wire  sieve  on  the  corn-meal  side,  and 
the  hair-cloth  sieve  on  the  rye-meal  side,  but  we 
could  not  run  a  sieve  along  the  horizontal  bar  in 
the  middle  of  the  sifting  section  of  the  chest.  A 
hugh  brick  oven,  and  chimney  had,  at  some  recent 
date,  been  built  out  into  the  room  on  one  side.  An 
ancient  brass  kettle,  immense  in  size  and  beautiful 
in  proportions  had  been  deprived  of  its  bail,  and 
ears,  and  had  become  a  "set"  kettle,  in  which  clothes 
were  boiled  over  the  fire  in  the  brick  chamber 
underneath. 

Although  my  mother  always  "kept  help,"  most  of 
them  women  who  could  be  spared  from  neighbor- 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  4.9 

ing  families,  yet  she  tried  to  instruct  her  daughters 
in  the  art  of  house-keeping. 

"Cloy  the  hungry  edge  of  appetite, 
By  bare  imagination  of  a  feast." 

Baking  day  saw  long  sticks  of  pine  oven  wood 
burned  to  coals  on  the  floor  of  the  brick-oven,  the 
ashes  removed,  and  the  "oven  broom"  plied  with 
energy,  before  the  long  handled  shovel  placed  cakes, 
pies  and  bread  within  the  remotest  recesses  of  the 
fiercely  heated  oven.  Later  the  somewhat  cooled 
oven  was  filled  again,  this  time  with  loaves  of  brown 
bread,  rye-bread,  fruit  cake,  pots  of  beans,  and  a 
brown  earthern  dish  of  Indian  pudding. 

White  "bonny"  beans  were  picked  over  on  Friday 
afternoon,  washed  and  soaked  over  night  in  more 
water  than  could  be  absorbed.  Early  Saturday 
morning  this  water  was  poured  off,  and  the  beans 
boiled  in  a  large  quantity  of  water,  until  the  wrink 
led  skins  were  ready  to  burst.  With  a  skimmer,  the 
beans  were  drained  and  placed  in  an  eathern  pot, 
with  a  small  piece  of  salt  pork,  selected  for  its 
streak  of  lean,  and  gashed  across  the  rind.  A  little 
soda,  molasses  and  mustard  were  added,  and  some- 
times a  morsel  of  sausage.  When  put  into  the  oven, 
the  pork  was  almost  hidden  by  the  beans,  and  a 
sheet  of  tin  was  laid  over  the  uncovered  bean  pot. 
A  spoonful  or  two  of  water  was  added  from  time  to 


jo  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

time,  and,  presently,  the  pot  was  uncovered,  and 
the  pork  brought  to  the  surface  to  shrink,  grow 
crisp  and  flavor  the  beans,  until  supper  time.  Unless 
the  steam  were  allowed  to  escape  from  the  uncovered 
pot,  the  beans  might  be  boiled  or  stewed,  they 
surely  would  not  be  baked. 

Baked  sweet  apples  and  milk,  very  cold,  made  a 
delicious  and  hygienic  supper  dish.  Hulled  corn, 
with  milk  or  molasses  was  a  favorite  form  of  food. 
Great  kettles  full  of  hasty-pudding  were  easily 
disposed  of,  as  "pudding  and  milk,"  and  too  little 
remained  to  serve  as  "fried  pudding"  at  breakfast. 
It  was  not  really  fried  but  was  browned  on  a  hot 
greased  "spider."  Buckwheat  was  never  made  into 
griddle  cakes,  but  into  a  sort  of  muffins  cooked  in  the 
oven.  Roast  spare-rib  was  eaten  cold,  preferably 
with  hot  baked  potatoes.  All  fat  was  carefully  lifted 
from  the  bowl  of  cold  "drippings,"  to  which  water 
was  then  added,  with  a  thickening  of  flour  and  water. 
The  resulting  "roast  pork  gravy"  was  not  greasy, 
but  savory  and  wholesome,  with  potatoes. 

For  "invited  company"  mother  was  sure  to  make 
great  piles  of  those  cream-white  hot  biscuits  which 
accorded  so  well  with  "quartered  quince"  or  "whole 
peach"  preserve. 

Muslin  toast  was  a  favorite  supper  dish,  prepared 
with  nicety  and  precision.  A  rye  short  cake  the 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  51 

full  size  of  the  griddle  iron,  was  browned  to  a  deli- 
cate crisp,  on  each  side,  the  thin  crust  deftly  flayed 
from  the  hot  side,  the  denuded  surface  returned  to 
the  griddle,  and  the  crust  placed  in  the  waiting 
basin  of  hot,  thickened  and  salted  milk.  This 
process  was  repeated  until  the  upper  crust  of  the 
cake  was  reached  and  ready  to  be  "dipped." 

"Into  the  sounding  pails  the  foaming  streamlets  descended." 

No  butter  and  cheese  were  made  within  my 
recollection,  except  for  home  use.  Milk  was  some 
times  sold  to  collectors  for  city  markets,  but  as  a 
rule  calves  were  bought  and  fattened  for  veal. 

Grandmother  made  sour  milk,  new  milk,  sage, 
four  meal,  and  "white  oak"  or  skimmed  milk  cheeses. 

Having  brought  milk  to  the  desired  temperature 
by  setting  it  in  the  huge  tin  kettle  on  the  back  of 
the  stove,  it  was  poured  into  the  immaculate  "cheese 
tub,"  with  a  small  quantity  of  soaked  rennet,  a 
substance  prepared  from  the  inner  membrane  of  a 
calf's  stomach.  When  the  curd  was  well  "set,"  it 
was  cut  across  with  the  "cheese  stick,"  to  allow  the 
whey  to  rise  and  be  ''dipped  off."  Bowls  of  "curds 
and  whey"  were  served  at  this  point  to  those  who 
had  been  impatiently  waiting  for  them. 

Meanwhile,  the  "cheese  tongs,"  a  sort  of  ladder 
with  two  rungs,  had  been  placed  across  the  "whey 
tub"  to  support  the  large  meshed,  splint  "cheese 


$2  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

basket" over  which  the  ample  cheese  cloth  "strainer" 
bad  been  spread.  The  "wheyed  off"  curd  having 
been  put  into  the  basket,  upon  the  cloth,  and 
allowed  to  drain  dry,  it  was  then  ready  to  be 
"broken  up"  with  the  hand,  and  mixed  with  salt. 
Again  the  children  begged  for  "just  a  taste." 

A  square  of  strong  cotton  cloth,  placed  over  a 
"cheese  hoop"  of  suitable  size,  was  well  filled  with 
the  crumbled  curd.  The  cloth  was  tightly  twisted 
on  the  top,  held  in  place  by  the  "follower,"  a 
wooden  disk  smaller  than  the  hoop,  and  then  the 
cheese  was  placed  under  the  requisite  number  of 
"blocks"  in  the  curious  wooden  cheese  press  and  a 
heavy  weight  hung  upon  the  arm  of  the  press.  By 
the  next  morning  the  follower  had  followed  the 
cheese  into  the  hoop,  and  a  corresponding  amount 
of  whey  had  run  out  across  the  grooved  shelf  of  the 
press. 

When  the  hoop  was  removed  in  order  to  "turn" 
the  cheese  and  wrap  it  in  a  dry  cloth,  a  ridge  of 
curd  was  found  to  have  rilled  the  space  between  the 
edge  of  the  follower  and  the  hoop.  This  was 
carefully  cut  off,  and  the  delicious  morsels  called 
'•cheese  parings"  were  the  children's  perquisites. 
Removed  from  the  hoops,  placed  upon  thin  boards, 
and  added  to  the  rows  upon  the  shelves,  "new,"  or 
"green"  cheeses,  were  regularly  "greased"  and 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  53 

"turned,"  until  the  rind  became  thoroughly  dry, 
smooth,  and  almost  impervious.  Dutch  or  sour  milk 
cheeses  were  made  by  a  simple  process  for  imme- 
diate use. 

Within  my  recollection,  the  dasher  churn,  the 
round  wooden  butter  bowl,  and  the  stone  butter 
jars  were  seldom  removed  from  their  pantry  corner, 
but  Grandmother  had  little  dairy  ways  all  her  own. 

A  certain  ancient  brown-glazed  jar  was  half 
filled  with  rich  cream,  and  steady  stirring  with  a 
white-wood  paddle  soon  "brought"  a  lump  of 
yellow  butter,  which  she  "worked"  with  the  same 
paddle-like  "spatter"  on  a  wooden  plate  kept  for 
the  purpose,  and  then  the  salted  and  "printed"  pat 
was  set  on  a  certain  Ridgeway  plate,  in  its  own 
stone  jar.  Making,  and,  incidentally,  eating  a 
"buttermilk  cake"  followed  as  in  natural  sequence. 
"As  dry  as  a  remainder  biscuit  after  a  voyage." 

Hermetically  sealed  cans  and  jars  had  not  been 
invented.  Steam-cooked,  kiln-dried,  and  dessicated 
foods  were  not  in  the  market. 

Unless  fruits  and  berries  were  made  into  jelly 
or  preserved  pound  for  pound,  they  must  be  dried 
for  winter  use.  Drying  apples  was  an  important 
part  of  the  season's  work.  "Apple  stagings,"  "ap- 
ple boards"  and  "apple  cloths"  were  brought  out 
from  the  store  room.  Apples  were  pared,  thinly 


54  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

sliced,  and  spread  upon  cloths  laid  over  boards 
which  rested  upon  stagings  in  the  front  door  yard. 
The  boards  were  brought  into  the  house  at  night, 
and  on  the  approach  of  rain,  and  were  placed  upon 
the  floor  of  some  unused  room.  In  case  of  long 
continued  dampness  the  drying  could  be  finished 
in  the  wide  open  stove  oven.  Some  of  our  neigh- 
bors "strung  "apples  and  hung  the  festoons  upon 
lines  over  the  stove.  Peaches,  pears,  berries  of  all 
kinds,  and  sweet  corn  were  dried  in  their  season. 
Sugar  pumpkins  were  first  "stewed"  and  then 
spread  upon  boards  or  plates,  and  dried  in  the 
oven. 

Catsup  and  all  kinds  of  pickles  were  "made" 
in  due  season. 

Sweet  cider,  boiled  down  to  one  half  its  bulk, 
was  "bottled,"  and  with  dried  apples  made  the 
spring  relish  known  as  boiled  cider  apple  sauce. 
"Laying  down  and  putting  into  the  cellar." 

In  slaughtering  time,  "Ben  Sawin,"  an  expert 
at  the  business  of  "pig  killing"  brought  his  "scald- 
ing tub"  and  other  paraphernalia  on  a  low  wagon. 
Assisted  by  the  "hired  men"  Mr.  Sawin  set  about 
and  finished  his  work,  removed  the  traces,  and  de- 
parted to  fill  other  engagements,  leaving  my  father 
to  "cut  up"  and  distribute  the  pork  at  the 
proper  time. 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  55 

Clean  barrels  were  packed  with  firm  white  pork, 
and  then  filled  with  brine  prepared  according  to 
a  famous  family  receipt.  A  flat  stone  was  placed 
upon  the  top-most  layer  to  secure  complete 
submersion  free  from  "rust,"  and  a  sharp-pointed 
iron  hook  was  conveniently  hung  on  the  edge 
of  the  covered  pork  barrel. 

"Leaf  lard"  was  tried  out  in  the  kitchen,  in 
an  ancient  "round  bottomed  iron  pot."  Even  now 
I  seem  to  hear  the  scrape,  scrape,  scrape  of  the  tin 
cup,  as  Grandmother  tried  to  dip  the  hot  lard, 
drop  by  drop,  from  the  lowest  point  at  the  bottom 
of  the  pot. 

Hams  were  cured  in  a  neighbor's  smoke  house. 
"Sausage  meat"  was  usually  crowded  into  strong 
cylindrical  cotton  bags,  from  whose  firmly  pressed 
contents  thin  slices  were  cut  for  the  "spider"  at 
breakfast  time.  A  few  "skins"  were  sometimes 
"filled."  Tin  funnel,  flat,  knobbed  piston,  and 
"breast  board,"  was  the  apparatus  used  by  Grand- 
father with  great  skill,  until  the  resulting  "sausage 
links"  festooned  one  corner  of  the  storeroom. 

Fruits,  vegetables,  and  winter  supplies  of  all 
kinds  were  unloaded  from  wagons  at  the  "out- 
side cellar  door,"  and  wheeled  through  the  "vine- 
gar cellar"  to  their  respective  places  in  "apple 
cellar,"  "milk  cellar,"  or  "Grandmother's  cellar,"  all 


56  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

suitably  furnished  with  cupboards,  boxes,  barrels, 
bins,  and  "swing  shelves."  One  flight  of  stairs  led 
from  vegetable  cellar  to  kitchen,  another  from 
vinegar  cellar  to  pumproom,  and  the  third  from 
Grandmother's  cellar  to  the  "front  entry."  Chil- 
dren always  avoided  this  last  mentioned  stairway, 
because  it  was  dark,  and  because  a  door  on  the 
upper  landing  opened  into  a  dark  space  behind 
the  chimney,  known  as  the  "dunce  hole." 

"Poor  lone  Hannah, 
Sitting  by  the  window,  binding  shoes." 

For  some  years  previous  to  1860,  "binding 
shoes"  and  "closing  shoes,"  afforded  means  of  earn- 
ing money  at  home.  The  shoes  were  cut  out,  and 
then  distributed  from  shoe  shops  in  the  larger 
towns.  No  "work  on  shoes"  was  ever  done  in  our 
house,  but  I  have  seen  it  done  in  neighboring 
houses.  A  three  cornered  needle,  like  the  common 
glove  needle,  was  used  in  binding  shoes.  Thin, 
soft  leather  from  which  the  binding  strips  were 
cut  had  a  sort  of  ticking  stripe  in  black  and  white. 
Cutting  in  the  middle  of  the  white  stripe  secured 
an  even  strip  of  such  width  that  the  white  edge 
was  concealed  in  the  seam.  This  was  wholly  hand 
work. 

In  "closing  shoes,"  the  counter  was  properly 
lapped  upon  the  vamp,  and  inserted  in  an  iron 


In   Dover  on  the  Charles  57 

clamp,  worked  by  foot  power.  A  sharp  blow  upon 
the  handle  of  the  "marking  iron"  had  left  in  the 
leather  the  marks  of  sharp  teeth  to  show  where 
a  double  row  of  awl  holes  should  now  be  made, 
through  both  thicknesses  of  leather,  close  to  the 
clamp.  A  length  of  well-waxed  "shoe  thread"  was 
threaded  with  a  needle  at  each  end,  the  left  hand 
needle  passed  the  right  hand  needle  in  the  first  awl 
hole;  the  thread  was  drawn  out  equally  on  the 
sides,  and  the  locked  stitch  continued  to  the  end 
of  the  seam,  and  back  again  in  the  second  row  of 
holes.  Sewing  the  seam  on  the  other  side  of  the 
shoe  completed  the  work.  The  invention  of  sew- 
ing machines  ended  this  kind  of  work  as  it  did 
many  other  kinds. 

Braiding  straw  was  for  many  years  an  easy 
and  profitable  kind  of  work  for  afternoons  and 
evenings,  and  for  visiting.  Shining  yellow  straws 
from  carefully  selected  sheaves  of  rye,  freed  from 
the  sheath,  severed  at  each  joint,  bleached  in  brim- 
stone fumes,  and  tied  in  neat  bundles  were  ready 
to  be  "split"  and  "machined."  First  made  "limber" 
by  wetting,  each  straw  was  deftly  split  and  flat- 
tened with  one  blade  from  a  pair  of  scissors;  and 
then,  except  for  half  an  inch  at  one  end  under  the 
left  thumb,  it  was  divided  into  strands  of  the 
desired  fineness  by  the  sharp  teeth  of  the  little 


5<5*  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

"machine"  which  was  held  in  the  right  hand.  A 
clean  white  lap  towel,  a  bundle  of  prepared  straws 
in  a  napkin,  and  a  bowl  of  water  were  essential 
in  braiding  straw,  or  "Dunstable"  as  it  was  more 
often  called. 

Seven  "strands"  were  usual,  but  some  experts 
made  a  "fine  'leven  braid."  New  strands  were 
inserted  at  almost  every  turn,  so  that  one  edge 
of  the  finished  braid  bristled  on  each  side  with 
slanting  ends  of  straw.  On  account  of  its  brittle- 
ness,  the  braid  could  not  be  reeled,  but  was  wound 
into  balls,  and  sent  to  the  "trimmer"  before  being 
sewed  into  bonnets.  Mr.  Charles  Gowen  of  Frank- 
lin had  a  trimming  machine  and  carried  on  a  large 
business  at  his  shop  between  1840  and  1850. 

Every  industrious  woman,  rich  or  poor,  so  or- 
dered her  household  affairs  as  to  be  at  liberty 
to  "sew  straw"  in  the  "season"  which  lasted  four 
or  five  months,  beginning  in  November.  The 
straw  shops  sent  out  work,  plaster  of  Paris  hat 
blocks,  straw  braid,  numbers  printed  upon  cloth, 
and  thread.  Four  or  five  different  shapes,  and  all 
sorts  of  "stock"  were  brought  in  the  course  of  the 
winter.  Coarse,  rough-edged  Canton  was  hard 
on  fingers,  and  so  were  notched  braid  and  Coburg; 
Dunstable  was  brittle  and  showed  stitches;  Milan 
was  sometimes  easily  torn,  and  even  when  "firm" 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  59 

was  unprofitable,  "paid  by  the  hat;"  lace  was  stiff, 
and  the  wide  intricate  patterns  difficult  to 
join ;  hair  braid  showed  uneven  lapping,  and  was 
sewed  with  horse  hair  instead  of  thread.  "Flor- 
ence" was  easy  to  sew  and  profitable.  When  all 
these  considerations  were  added  to  "shapes,"  and 
"price,"  and  "length  of  season,"  straw  sewers  had 
topics  for  conversation  in  "straw  time." 

"Stock  wagons"  from  Medfield  and  other  straw 
manufacturing  centers  furnished  this  employment. 
Expert  sewers  sometimes  earned  $200  or  $300  in  a 
good  season. 

About  1862,  weaving  palm  leaf  for  shaker  sun- 
bonnets  was  the  neighborhood  industry.  An  out- 
of-town  manufacturer  sent  out  stock  wagons,  distrib- 
uted the  material  and  collected  the  sheets,  strips,  and 
braid.  Village  carpenters  made  the  looms;  wide  looms 
for  the  sheets  from  which  bonnets  were  cut,  and  nar- 
row looms  for  the  inch  wide  binding  strips.  It  was 
no  unusual  occurrence  for  an  invited  neighbor  to 
arrive  early  in  the  morning,  accompanied  by  some 
male  member  of  her  family  who  had  her  loom  on 
his  shoulder,  or  in  a  wheel-barrow.  Constant  treadle 
motion  was  very  fatiguing,  continued  day  after  day, 
and  only  robust  women  could  use  the  wide  looms. 
I  had  a  narrow  loom,  but,  though  I  saved  my 
reputation  for  industry,  I  did  not  amass  wealth. 


60  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

Those  who  did  not  weave,  braided  the  notched 
braid  which  covered  the  seam  where  the  crown 
joined  the  front  of  the  bonnet.  The  split  palm 
leaf  for  the  looms  and  for  braiding  came  in 
strands  two  or  three  feet  long,  some  black 
and  some  in  the  natural  color.  These  sun-bonnets 
were  universally  worn  by  women  and  children  after 
adding  wide  gingham  capes  and  strings. 
"The  spinster  and  the  knitters  in  the  sun." 

"Sitting  work"  included  family  sewing,  fancy 
work,  and  other  forms  of  handiwork,  but  at  the 
date  of  my  story,  which  ends  in  1864,  many  crafts 
had  been  abandoned. 

Over  and  over  again  Grandmother  has  explained 
the  process  of  "swingling"  and  "hatcheling"  flax, 
and  showed  us  how  she  used  to  spin  linen  thread 
on  the  flax  wheel,  and  yarn  from  wool  or  tow  on 
the  "great"  wheel.  We  never  meddled  with  these 
spinning  wheels,  but  the  reel  upon  which  the  spun 
yarn  used  to  be  wound  into  skeins  was  a  fascinating 
plaything.  The  crank  was  twirled  round  and  round 
for  the  sake  of  hearing  the  sharp  "click,"  as  the  in- 
dicator marked  each  completed  knot  in  the  skein. 
"Blades,"  or  swifts,  reversed  the  reeling  process, 
and  held  the  skein  while  it  was  wound  off  upon 
wads  of  paper  into  a  ball.  Within  my  recollection 
spools  were  rarely  seen.  "Hanks"  of  thread,  skeins 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  61 

of  sewing  silk,  and  "sticks"  of  button  hole  twist 
necessarily  gave  way  to  spool  thread  and  silk  when 
sewing  machines  began  to  be  used. 

A  pair  of  "wool  cards,"  their  hooked  teeth 
pressed  and  locked  together,  lay  upon  the  attic 
floor  until  wartime  brought  every  sort  of  fibre  into 
use.  Then  these  old-fashioned  implements  did 
good  service  in  "carding"  matted  cotton  and  wool 
wadding  into  fluffy  rolls  for  a  second  period  of 
usefulness. 

Our  great-grandmothers  learned  "marking  stitch" 
by  working  more  or  less  elaborate  samplers,  linen 
canvas  worked  with  colored  silks. 

People  now-a-days  ''tie  puffs,"  a  few  "tie  com- 
fortables," and  wadded  linings  are  quilted  by 
machine  stitching,  but  the  old-time  art  of  quilting 
is  almost  forgotten.  Even  as  one  of  the  "revived 
arts,"  modern  appliances  have  greatly  changed  the 
operation.  Quilting  frames,  or  bars  were  four 
strips  of  wood,  seven  or  eight  feet  long,  three 
inches  wide,  and  less  than  one  inch  thick.  Each 
bar  had  a  strip  of  "list"  firmly  tacked  to  one  edge, 
and  a  long  row  of  holes  bored  at  each  end.  To 
"put  in"  the  quilt,  the  frames  were  laid  in  the  form 
of  an  oblong,  and  fastened  at  the  overlapping  cor- 
ners by  wooden  pegs,  the  ends  of  the  bars  pro- 
jecting more  or  less  according  to  the  size  of  the 


62  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

quilt.  A  chair  back  at  each  corner  supported  the 
frame,  over  which  the  lining  was  tightly  stretched 
and  sewed  to  the  list  on  all  four  sides.  Wool  wad- 
ding or  cotton  batting  of  the  desired  thickness  was 
spread  upon  the  lining,  and  the  "outside"  laid 
upon  that.  "Marking  out"  the  quilting  patterns, 
herringbone,  diamond,  or  shell,  by  snapping  a 
chalked  line,  or  by  marking  around  a  pasteboard 
design,  was  an  art  in  which  some  women  were 
enviably  proficient.  In  order  to  "quilt"  an  elabo- 
rate pattern  in  one  afternoon,  a  "quilting  bee" 
was  held,  and  the  frames  were  surrounded  by  as 
many  workers  as  could  find  elbow  room.  From 
time  to  time  the  pegs  were  withdrawn,  and  the 
sides  rolled  up  to  the  last  finished  row,  until  the 
pattern  was  completed.  Then  the  quilt  was  "taken 
out"  and  finished  by  turning  in  or  bindingthe  edges. 
A  very  large  bedquilt  of  printed  India  cotton, 
wadded  with  wool,  lined  with  homespun  linen,  and 
quilted  in  herringbone  lines  one  third  inch  apart, 
was  made  by  my  great-great-grandmother,  Roger 
Sherman's  sister  Mehitable,  who  died  in  1804,  aged 
ninety  years.  My  mother  gave  a  piece  of  this  relic 
to  each  of  her  children. 

Some  other  heirloom  bedquilts  were  in  the  house 
and  one  "album"  quilt  was  made  in  my  childhood. 
Usually  patchwork  was  made  in  leisure  hours,  in 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  6j 

simple  designs,  for  the  purpose  of  utilizing  scraps 
of  calico,  gingham,  or  delaine,  and  of  renewing  the 
supply  of  bedding.  Children  were  taught  to  sew 
carefully  basted  squares,  "over  and  over,"  as  one  of 
the  first  lessons  in  needle  work. 

Grandmother's  "rag  basket"  always  held  a  mat 
upon  which  she  was  working,  and  the  finished 
rugs  were  worthy  of  her  conscientious  skill.  Every 
strip  was  cut  wide  or  narrow  according  to  the  thick- 
ness of  the  cloth;  the  strips  were  pieced  flat  and 
folded  smoothly  in  braiding  so  as  to  form  even 
strands  with  no  raw  edges  on  the  right  side  of  the 
braid.  Only  thick,  firm,  all  wool  cloth  was  deemed 
worth  using.  The  completed  length  of  braid  was 
wound  into  an  immense  ball,  so  that  the  end  in- 
tended for  the  middle  came  upon  the  outside 
of  the  ball.  The  unwinding,  the  heap  of  many- 
colored  braid,  and  the  rewinding  interested  us 
greatly.  In  "sewing"  the  mats,  the  needle  was  in- 
serted so  that  all  stitches  were  concealed  in  the 
braid  and  not  exposed  to  "wear." 

Home-braided  palm  leaf  hats  were  worn  by  men 
in  the  fields.  A  favorite  seat  of  mine,  in  the  old 
pumproom,  was  an  upright  bark-denuded  log, 
known  as  the  hat-block,  because  these  hat  crowns 
were  shaped  .upon  its  smaller  end. 

Husk  collars,  for  working  horses,  were  braided 


6 4.  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

from  the  soft  inner  husks  of  the  corn.  The  large 
steel  needle  for  sewing  these  collars  was  curved  at 
the  double-beveled  point,  and,  in  use,  was  inserted 
edgewise,  and  pushed  through  by  a  sort  of  thimble 
fastened  to  the  palm  of  the  hand. 

Braided  husk  door  mats  were  always  used  at  our 
outside  door.  They  had  many  of  the  qualities 
which  make  modern  rubber  and  woven  wire  mats 
desirable. 

Yarn,  once  used  and  crinkled,  or  poor  and  slack- 
twisted,  and  two  bent  rusty  needles  were  given  us 
when  we  learned  to  knit  garter  stitch,  and  with 
these  the  most  skillful  knitter  could  not  make 
smooth,  even  work,  and  "do  a  stint"  in  reasonable 
time.  Patience  and  persistence  characterized  the 
teacher,  and  perseverance  the  pupil.  At  length, 
with  the  help  of  the  whirling  blades,  a  great  skein 
of  new  yarn  was  wound,  the  stitches  "cast  on" 
three  needles,  and  a  long  woolen  stocking  was  be- 
gun. The  first  stitch  was  taken  off  upon  the  fourth 
needle,  and  then  followed  knit  two,  seam  two,  knit 
plain,  narrow,  seam  one  in  middle  needle,  slip  and 
bind,  set  heel,  knit  heel,  bind  off,  take  up  stitches, 
knit  plain,  toe  off,  run  heel —  and  a  stocking  was 
finished  from  top  to  toe. 

Knitting  sheaths  were  used  only  by  very  old 
ladies  like  my  grandmother,  and  were  pinned  to 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  65 

the  right  side  at  the  waist.  They  were  made  of 
double  cloth,  velvet  or  kid,  almost  triangular  in 
shape,  and  held  a  quill,  or  quill-shaped  roll  of  soft 
leather,  into  which  one  end  of  the  fourth  needle 
was  thrust  and  held  while  in  use.  Sometimes  the 
sheath  was  attached  to  a  long  bag  or  pocket  which 
held  the  ball,  and  in  which  the  rolled  up  work 
could  be  placed  when  the  little  caps  joined  by  an 
elastic  cord,  had  been  slipped  over  the  ends  of  the 
needles.  We  knit  the  mittens  which  we  wore, 
durable  but  often  clumsy. 

"Railroad"  cotton  stockings,  so  called  either 
from  the  open  work  effect,  or  from  the  way  in 
which  that  effect  was  produced,  were  made  by 
knitting  a  plain  top  a  certain  number  of  inches 
long,  and  then  dropping  every  alternate  stitch, 
and  "toeing  off"  with  the  remaining  half  of  the 
stitches.  Every  girl  knit  one  pair  when  they 
were  the  rage,  but  I  have  no  recollection  of  wear- 
ing them. 

In  my  childhood  crochet  needles  were  in  univer- 
sal use.  One  of  my  choicest  possessions  was  a  set 
of  six  hooks  and  a  bone  handle.  Every  imagin- 
able article  of  use  or  ornament  was  crocheted 
from  yarn,  thread,  split,  single  and  double  zephyr 
worsted,  and  saddler's  silk.  Germantown  wool 
afterwards  replaced  the  costly  imported  Berlin 


66  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

wools.  Thread  edgings  and  insertion  trimmed 
every  sort  of  garment.  "Shells"  and  "points," 
hairpin  lace,  serpentine  and  feather  edged  braid, 
and  tape  trimming  occupied  our  attention.  Table 
mats  and  tidies  were  made  of  knitting  cotton,  or 
fine  cotton  thread.  Ladies  wore  wide  flat  collars 
crocheted  from  sewing  cotton,  and  from  red,  blue, 
or  drab  split  zephyr.  Large,  square  Shetland  wool 
shawls  in  shell  stitch,  were  folded  cornerwise,  and 
worn  by  ladies  as  "summer  shawls,"  not  in  the 
house,  but  in  the  street  and  to  church.  Up  to  the 
time  when  I  was  a  grown  woman,  it  was  con- 
sidered unconventional,  and  even  immodest,  to 
appear  in  the  street  with  "nothing  over  the 
shoulders,"  that  is,  without  wearing  a  shawl,  wide 
scarf  or  cape. 

Small  black  or  garnet  beads  were  strung  upon 
skeins  of  sewing  silk,  and  crocheted  around  a 
pencil  into  a  long  flexible  bead  tube  which  was 
tied  in  a  true  lover's  knot  and  the  ends  neatly 
joined,  making  a  very  fashionable  and  clumsy 
bracelet.  We  worked  cross  stitch  on  canvas  with 
colored  worsteds,  and  we  did  elaborate  work  with 
tatting  shuttle  and  fine  thread.  Netting  had  gone 
out  of  fashion,  but  both  wooden  and  steel  netting 
needles  were  in  my  great-grandmother's  work- 
basket.  All  this  work  of  fifty  years  ago  is  now 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  67 

revived.  About  this  time  the  sewing  machine 
came  into  use.  The  first  machine  was  a  chain 
stitch  machine,  turned  by  a  hand  crank.  Grover 
and  Baker's  foot  power  machine  came  next,  and 
then  we  came  into  possession  of  a  Wheeler  and 
Wilson  treadle  machine  with  a  lock  stitch. 

"Here  friendship  lights  the  fire  and  every  heart, 
Sure  of  itself  and  sure  of  all  the  rest, 
Dares  to  be  true  and  gladly  takes  its  part 
In  open  converse,  bringing  forth  its  best." 

Hospitable  and  neighborly  we  certainly  were, 
but  there  was  no  unceremonious  "running  in"  on 
our  part  or  that  of  our  neighbors.  Like  all  our 
visitors,  the  family  habitually  used  the  west  "front" 
door  whose  entry  opened  into  both  parlor  and 
dining  room.  The  old  "four  foot"  dining  table  had 
been  consigned  to  the  kitchen,  and  replaced  by  a 
black  walnut  extension  table.  The  China  closet 
held  a  rose-bud  tea  set,  a  mulberry  ware  dinner  and 
tea  set,  an  oval  willow  ware  platter,  several  dark 
blue  plates,  and  other  specimens  of  English  and 
Delft  ware. 

"Invited  company"  was  one  thing,  "unexpected" 
company  was  quite  another.  Instead  of  formal 
calls,  card  leavings,  and  receptions,  social  courtesy 
required  that  one's  visiting  aquaintances  should  be 
entertained  at  afternoon  visits,  or  invited  "to  spend 


68  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

the  day"  at  regular  intervals.  The  "time  was  set," 
the  guests  brought  their  work,  and  "spent  the  day" 
or  "spent  the  afternoon  and  took  tea."  Sometimes 
one  person  was  invited,  sometimes  a  "party;"  some- 
times husbands  were  included  and  sometimes  not. 
These  visits  could  seldom  be  made  "on  foot." 

Every  good  housekeeper  held  herself  in  readiness 
to  entertain  company  at  any  time  without  notice. 
"If  anybody  should  come"  was  an  important  if  in 
the  day's  work,  and  in  the  larder,  too.  Soon  after 
one  o'clock  was  the  proper  time  to  reach  one's  des- 
tination on  these  uninvited  visits  to  relations  or 
intimate  friends.  To  delay  until  two  o'clock  was 
considered  affectedly  "genteel."  Accustomed  visi- 
tors from  adjoining  towns  were  confidently  "looked 
for"  under  favorable  circumstances  of  season  or 
weather. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Elijah  Perry  of  South  Natick,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Calvin  Richards  of  Strawberry  Hill,  Dover, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frederick  Barden  of  Newton  Upper 
Falls,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Benjamin  Newell  of  Dover,  and 
my  father  and  mother  comprised  "The  Old  Guard." 
They  were  friends  from  childhood,  and  kept  up  the 
friendship  and  intimate  acquaintance  throughout 
their  lives.  Mrs.  Richards  was  the  last  survivor, 
dying  during  the  present  century. 

They  were  accustomed  to  meet  at   each    house 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  69 

by  special  invitation  at  least  once  a  year.  They 
often  made  excursions  in  their  own  carriages  to 
Squantum  Beach  in  summer,  or  went  in  sleighs  to 
some  distant  hotel  for  supper  in  winter.  When 
the  sleighing  was  good,  in  midwinter,  they  always 
went  to  Newton  Upper  Falls,  and  the  party 
assembled  at  our  house  in  the  autumn.  No 
children  were  invited  to  these  formal  gatherings. 
"One's  treasures  always  tell  such  secrets  of  oneself." 

Our  parlor,  though  constantly  used,  was  always 
kept  ready  for  company.  A  brass-trimmed  iron 
fire  frame  surrounded  the  closed  up  fire  place,  be- 
hind the  air  tight  stove,  but  side  brackets  still  held 
the  brass  "fire  set,"  shovel,  poker,  and  tongs.  The 
chimney  cupboard  contained  the  family  daguerreo- 
types and  other  relics,  among  them  a  colored  print 
of  the  Burning  of  the  Steamer  Lexington. 

"Look  in  the  candle  stand  drawer"  was  an  often 
repeated  direction.  This  sewing  table  with  hinged 
drop  leaves  and  two  drawers  was  the  orderly  recep- 
tacle of  all  sorts  of  sewing  implements  and  sup- 
plies. When  my  mother  was  married  her  "bureau," 
according  to  the  fashion  of  the  period,  was  placed 
in  this  parlor.  The  "center  table"  opened  out 
square,  or  folded  over  to  one-half  its  size,  and  the  top 
turned  around  over  the  box  which  formed  the  top 
of  the  standard. 


7<?  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

Some  forms  of  fashionable  decoration  were  not 
in  our  rooms.  Painting  on  glass  belonged  to  an 
earlier  period.  A  printed  picture  was  gummed  to 
a  plate  of  glass,  the  paper  moistened  and  rubbed 
off  to  the  thinnest  possible  film,  and  then  the  out- 
lines filled  in  with  a  brush  so  that  the  vivid  colors 
seemed  to  be  in  the  glass  itself,  Large  and  elabo- 
rate designs  were  cut  with  small  scissors  from  white 
paper,  which  was  then  placed  over  a  dark  back- 
ground and  framed.  This  work  was  called  papyro. 
tamia,  and  included  human  figures,  birds,  and 
flowers.  "Skeleton  leaves"  were  made  by  immers- 
ing green  leaves  in  water  until  the  veins  and  fibrous 
network  could  be  brushed  perfectly  clean.  When 
dried,  pressed  and  arranged  on  a  background  they 
were  framed  as  pictures.  In  spatterwork  the  de- 
sign was  obtained  by  laying  patterns  upon  card- 
board, and  spattering  India  ink  over  all  the  uncov- 
ered spaces,  producing  a  white  picture  upon  a 
gray  background.  Pressed  ferns  were  often  used 
as  patterns. 

In  our  dining  room  was  a  well  filled  bookcase 
and  a  table  with  magazines  and  newspapers,  in- 
cluding a  Boston  daily,  the  Massachusetts  Plough- 
man, Dedham  Gazette,  American  Messenger, 
Child's  Paper,  and  Farmer's  Almanac.  Godey's 
Lady's  Book,  Peterson's  Magazine,  and  Arthur's 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  77 

Home  Magazine  were  then  popular,  and  the  fa- 
miliar periodicals  of  the  present  time  were  not 
in  existence.  Besides  law  books  and  many 
other  leather  covered  volumes,  I  recall  Travels  in 
Africa,  Light  on  the  Dark  River,  Anna  Clayton, 
The  Dales  in  Newport,  Watts  on  the  Mind,  Paul 
and  Virginia,  The  Russian  Boy,  and  Peter  Parley's 
Geography,  volumes  of  poetry  and  essays,  and 
many  school  text  books. 

"  Some  smack  of  age  in  you, 
Some  relish  of  the  saltness  of  time.  " 

My  father's  slant  top  desk  stood  in  a  dining 
room  recess.  He  used  steel  pens,  but  in  a  drawer 
were  quill  pens  such  as  my  mother  "mended"  under 
Master  Whitney's  direction  in  her  school  days. 
He  used  blotting  paper,  but  the  once  indispensable 
"sand  box"  stood  in  its  wonted  place.  He  used 
gummed  envelopes,  but  the  box  of  wafers  was 
opened  now  and  then.  He  used  red  bordered 
gummed  seals  on  legal  documents,  but  some 
papers  in  the  pigeon  holes  bore  diamond  shaped 
bits  of  paper  fastened  with  red  wafers. 

Within  my  memory  my  Grandfather  never  used 
the  shoemaker's  bench  and  the  tools  of  his  trade. 
The  long,  low  bench  with  its  hollowed  seat,  the 
leather  apron,  lapstone,  hammer,  lasts,  awls,  pegs, 
wax,  waxed  ends,  bristles,  rasps,  and  shears,  just 


72  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

as  he  last  used  them,  were  kept  in  the  unfinished 
"back  chamber,"  among  the  large  chests  which 
had  tills,  spring  locks  and  secret  drawers. 


CHAPTER  THREE. 

"Tempora  mutantur." 

IFTY  years  ago,  there  were  no  sample 
cases,  drummers,  commercial  travelers, 
and  canvassers,  but  men  went  about 
peddling  all  sorts  of  merchandise. 
The  lightning  rod  man  was  ubiquitous. 
Dunlap,  the  seedsman,  sent  out  an  agent  who  was 
regularly  entertained  at  our  house  on  his  annual 
visit.  My  father  sent  to  the  new  dealer,  Gregory 
of  Marblehead,  for  seeds  and  plants  mentioned  in 
his  catalogues.  The  tree  man,  the  shoe  man,  the 
skein  thread  peddler,  the  root-and-herb  doctor,  the 
ladder  man,  and  the  tin  peddler  came  at  regular 
intervals.  In  after  years  we  heard  of  sending  for 
samples,  and  of  orders  filled  by  mail. 

Our  well  kept  Dry  Goods  and  Grocery  Store  at 
the  Corner  thrived  in  a  modest  way.  Mr.  Laurence 
Derby  was  the  first  proprietor  whom  I  knew.  Mr. 
Plummer  succeeded  Mr.  Derby.  Mr.  Lewis  Bliss 
followed  Mr.  Plummer,  and  changed  the  location  of 
the  store.  At  this  store  eggs  and  butter  were 
doubtless  disposed  of  "on  account."  Every  family 
had  a  garden,  and  there  was  no  sale  for  perishable 
fruit  and  vegetables. 


7^  In   Dover  on  the  Charles 

Twice  each  week,  Hewins,  the  Medfield  butcher 
sent  his  cart  through  Dover.  The  fish  man  came 
on  Friday.  Once  each  week,  Balch,  the  Medfield 
baker,  included  us  in  his  circuit.  Many  articles  of 
food  came  directly  from  Faneuil  Hall  Market  in 
the  returning  farm  wagons. 

My)old  hard  rubber,  or  gutta-percha  "puff  combs" 
bear  the  imprint  "Goodyear's  patent.  1849."  Be- 
fore  Goodyear's  time  we  had  no  "hard  rubber," 
nothing  but  the  "pure  gum."  Overshoes  at  first  were 
molded,  without  cloth  lining,  a  hollow  mass  of 
thick,  soft  rubber  not  wholly  unlike  the  shape  of  a 
human  foot.  Tarpaulin  and  sailcloth  were  used  as 
protection  from  weather.  No  waterproofs,  rubber 
bands,  hose,  waterbottles,  tubing,  aircushions, 
atomizers,  and  rubber  surgical  instruments  were 
made.  Imagine  the  world  of  today,  hospitals, 
shops,  homes,  streets,  schools,  and  playgrounds 
suddenly  deprived  of  everything  made  of  rubber 
in  its  countless  forms  and  combinations,  such  as 
were  unknown  twenty  years  ago,  and  then  imagine 
what  must  have  been  true  in  all  departments  of  life 
fifty  years  ago. 

In  1 863,  Professor  Horsfordof  Harvard  College  be- 
came the  president  of  the  Rumford  Chemical  works 
at  Providence.  This  must  have  been  sometime  after 
Horsford's  Yeast  became  a  commercial  product, 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  75 

the  first  "yeast  powder"  which  we  used.  It  came 
in  two  tin  boxes,  accompanied  by  a  short  tin  tube 
which  was  divided  into  two  unequal  parts  to  in- 
sure exactness  in  measuring  first  the  acid,  and  then 
the  alkaline  powder. 

"Before  the  war"  almost  everything  was  sold  in 
bulk  in  markets,  grocery  and  hardware  stores,  and 
apothecary  shops,  and  purchases  were  measured 
off  or  counted  out  in  "dry  goods  and  notions." 
In  days  still  more  remote  this  was  the  universal 
custom.  Pins  were  sold  by  the  ounce,  and  even  by 
the  dozen.  I  well  remember  the  first  paper  bags 
such  as  grocers  now  use,  which  took  the  place  of 
wrapping  paper  for  certain  purposes,  but  these 
bags  did  not  have  the  turned-in  corners  which 
were  a  much  later  invention.  The  makers  of  those 
first  paper  bags  "carried  out"  the  work,  and  "past- 
ing bags"  was  one  of  the  Dover  industries  at  one 
time. 

Adhesive  paper,  and  gummed  labels  are  compar- 
atively modern.  I  remember  when  postage  stamps 
were  not  gummed,  and  when  the  sheets  were  not 
perforated. 

Cox's  gelatine  was  introduced  in  1844,  but  I 
recollect  when  it  began  to  be  sold  and  used  in  place 
of  the  sheets  of  isinglass. 

With   the  invention   of   porcelain,   arsenic    and 


76  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

glass,  a  great  variety  of  lampshades,  vases,  and  or- 
namental articles  became  common. 

The  invention  of  the  steaming  process  of  bend- 
ing wood,  and  the  introduction  of  scroll  and  circu- 
lar saws  brought  about  cheap  and  varied  styles  in 
furniture  and  woodwork. 

"Sinews  of  War." 

In  the  time  of  the  Civil  War,  specie  payment 
_was  suspended.  I  had  a  box  of  silver  coins,  includ- 
ing half  dimes  and  three-cent  pieces,  which  I  ex- 
changed at  a  premium  for  "paper  currency." 
These  much  handled,  torn,  soiled  bits  of  paper 
could  not  be  kept  in  ordinary  purses  or  pocket- 
books,  and  little  books  were  made,  with  a  leaf  for 
each  denomination,  and  provided  with  bands  of 
tape  to  hold  the  "scrip"  in  its  place.  Change  became 
so  scarce  that  postage  stamps  were  used  as  money, 
before  sufficient  "fractional  currency"  was  sup- 
plied. In  damp  weather,  these  crumpled  bits  of 
sticky  paper  were  almost  unmanageable  in  spite 
of  all  the  stamp  books  and  other  devices. 
Everybody  rejoiced  when  silver  pieces,  "new 
cents,"  and  nickels  came  into  use.  Much  later 
gold  was  returned  to  circulation.  I  have  a  hand- 
ful of  old  copper  cents,  "coppers,"  in  the  box  in 
which  my  little  brother  placed  them  just  before 
his  death  "in  the  time  of  the  war." 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  77 

"Sparks  of  Fire." 

The  first  red  friction  matches  were  made  in  Eng- 
land in  1827.  The  matches  used  in  my  childhood 
were  similar  to  the  brimstone  matches  of  the  pres- 
ent day.  I.  have  seen  matches  which  could  be 
lighted  at  either  end. 

Grandmother  had  a  tinder  box,  steel,  and  flint 
with  which  fire  could  be  obtained  by  the  tedious 
process  of  striking  a  spark  with  the  steel  against 
the  flint,  and  igniting  the  tow  in  the  tinder  box. 
Fire  upon  the  hearth,  in  those  days,  was  carefully 
covered  with  ashes  at  night,  that  the  coals  might 
be  ready  to  start  the  morning  fire.  It  was  not  un- 
usual to  "borrow  fire"  from  a  neighbor,  taking  the 
live  coals  home  in  an  iron  pan  or  fire  shovel. 
About  1805  sulphur  matches  were  first  used.  They 
were  ignited  by  dipping  the  prepared  end  in  a 
bottle  of  liquid. 

"And  stretch  the  hands  of  memory  forth 
To  warm  them  at  the  wood  fire's  blaze." 

Our  parlor,  dining  room,  and  two  large  sleeping 
rooms  were  heated  by  air-tight  stoves  ;  one  chamber 
had  an  open  fire  place;  three  bedrooms  were  well 
heated  from  adjoining  rooms,  and  two  chambers 
had  no  means  of  heating. 

My  grandmother's  foot  stove  is  still  in  my  pos- 
session. It  is  a  skeleton  wooden  box,  with  zinc 


j8  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

covered  bottom,  and  perforated  zinc  panels  in  the 
top  and  sides.  In  one  side,  a  door  admits  an  iron 
dish  filled  with  live  coals  upon  ashes.  In  the  days 
of  open  fireplaces  and  draughty  floors,  this  stove 
was  used  as  a  foot  warmer  at  home,  and  was  car- 
ried under  one's  shawl  into  the  unheated  meeting 
house  on  the  Sabbath  day.  Grandmother  had,  of 
course,  no  rubber  water  bottle,  and  she  made  use 
of  her  footstove  all  her  life. 

A  certain  long,  cylindrical  stone  jug  was  kept 
for  the  purpose  of  holding  hot  water  when  needed 
"in  case  of  sickness,"  while  hot  bricks  and  soap- 
stones  were  always  used  as  bed  warmers  in  winter. 
By  the  rules  of  the  Charlestown  Female  Seminary, 
every  student  was  required  to  have  a  soapstone 
marked  with  her  name.  Our  warming  pan  was  a 
large  pan  of  shining  brass,  which  had  a  perforated 
lid,  and  a  long  wooden  handle.  At  bedtime,  in 
"old  times"  long  before  my  day,  this  pan  was  filled 
with  hot  coals  sprinkled  with  a  little  brown  sugar, 
and  moved  about  among  the  icy  linen  sheets  until 
the  bed  was  comfortably  warm. 

Peat  was  used  by  some  families,  but  coal  was 
unknown  as  fuel.  Wood  stoves  were  in  every 
house.  For  summer  use  we  had  a  patent  flatiron 
in  which  charcoal  was  burned. 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  79 

"How  far  that  little  candle  throws  its  beams  !" 
"At  early  candle  light"  was  a  common  expres- 
sion, and  in  many  houses  candles  were  still  used, 
but  I  seldom  saw  them  in  our  own  house,  the  para- 
fine  candles  of  today  being  of  course  unknown. 
A  wall  candlestick  hung  in  our  garret,  and  mother 
still  treasured  her  snuffer-tray  and  the  snuffer,  but 
I  realize  now  that  she  considered  candles  as  relics 
of  barbarism  though  she  did  stir  boiled  starch 
with  a  spermaceti  candle  to  secure  glossy  linen. 
Once  or  twice  Grandmother  "run"  some  tallow 
candles  in  the  set  of  iron  molds,  "dipped"  some 
tallow  candles,  and  told  us  how  she  had  made  can- 
dles from  "bayberry  wax,"  (myrica  cerifera.) 

Candles  were  superseded  by  sperm  oil,  and  lard 
oil  lamps,  usually  "one-wicked,"  that  single  wick 
tube  about  the  size  of  an  ordinary  quill.  Well-to- 
do  people  had  two-wicked  lamps,  and  lighted  both 
wicks,  when  several  persons  sat  around  that  lamp 
to  read  or  sew.  The  recklessly  extravagant,  of 
whom,  in  this  particular,  my  Grandmother  was  one, 
on  occasion  burned  "lard  oil"  in  two-wicked  lamps 
to  obtain  a  clear,  steady  light.  Those  wicks 
needed  much  attention.  We  had  a  pair  of  little 
lamp-shaped  standards  carved  from  wood  to  re- 
ceive the  oily,  wooden  handled  pins,  or  "lamp  picks," 
with  which  the  wicks  were  raised  or  lowered  at  fre- 
quent intervals. 


8o  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

Seldom  lighted  "Astral"  lamps  adapted  to  astral 
oil  adorned  the  parlor  tables  almost  everywhere, 
but  we  had  a  different  kind  of  "tall"  lamp  for  gen- 
eral use.  We  had  a  useful  "nurse  lamp."  It  was 
a  japanned  tin  cylinder  with  a  handle  and  a  hooded 
opening  at  one  side  to  admit  air.  An  oil  lamp 
could  be  placed  inside  under  one  of  its  inter- 
changeable covered  tin  dishes.  No  alcohol  lamps 
were  used,  and  kerosene  was  unknown  at  that 
time. 

We  had  one  of  the  first  camphene  or  "fluid" 
lamps,  Their  wicks  were  supplied  with  metal  caps 
on  account  of  the  extremely  volatile  nature  of  the 
fluid.  Owing  to  its  explosive  properties,  resulting 
in  many  fatalities,  camphene  soon  went  out  of  use 
for  illuminating  purposes. 

It  is  difficult  to  realize  now  how  we  lived  before 
"rock  oil"  became  a  commercial  product,  be- 
fore the  words  petroleum,  kerosene,  and  gasolene 
became  a  part  of  our  vocabulary,  and  before  the 
by-products  of  oil  refineries,  and  gas  works  came 
into  daily  and  general  use.  I  well  remember  the 
first  kerosene  lamps  which  were  sold.  As  they 
had  no  chimneys,  the  smoke  did  much  damage  and 
the  light  was  unsatisfactory.  Chimneys  were  soon 
invented,  ground  glass  globes  followed,  improve- 
ments in  burners,  shades,  wicks,  and  oil  multiplied, 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  81 

and  at  some  date  about  1863,  we  were  the  happy 
possessors  of  an  excellent  brass  student  lamp,  the 
first  one  seen  in  town. 

"The  fashions  of  these  times." 

My  grandmother,  as  I  remember  her,  wore  deli- 
cate "sprigged"  calicoes,  or  Scotch  ginghams,  and  a 
little  shoulder  cape,  when  about  her  work.  For 
afternoon  wear,  she  put  on  a  gray  woolen  dress, 
between  whose  surplice  fronts  lay  the  soft  folds  of 
a  white  muslin  neckkerchief.  A  delicate  lawn  cap 
just  overlapped  the  neat  "false  front,"  and  tied  under 
her  chin.  Years  after  her  death  it  began  to  be  con- 
sidered decent  for  a  woman  to  show  gray  hair. 
Except  the  insane  and  utterly  abandoned,  all  women 
covered  gray  hair  with  false  fronts  and  lined  caps, 
or  else  with  entire  wigs. 

On  Sundays  Grandmother  wore  her  newest  silver 
gray  poplin,  and  a  cashmere  shawl,  or  one  of  black 
"China  crape"  heavily  embroidered  above  the  knot- 
ted silk  fringe. 

A  Natick  dressmaker,  who  used  to  "go  out"  at 
"two  and  thrippence"  (37^  cents)  or  three  shillings 
(50  cents)  per  day,  came  to  the  house  twice  each 
year  to  cut  and  make  "best  dresses,"  silks,  poplins, 
thibets,  and  all  wool  delaines.  She  cut,  basted, 
fitted,  and  made  button  holes,  while  less  skilful 
workers  covered  piping  cord  and  did  the  plain  sewing. 


82  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

Dressmaker's  charges  had  "gone  up"  to  seventy-five 
cents  or  one  dollar  a  day,  when  I  was  old  enough 
to  require  her  services. 

As  late  as  1860,  the  invariable  style  for  the  neck 
of  dresses  was  a  rather  low  round  neck,  finished 
with  a  small  piping  cord.  A  necklace  of  gold  beads 
was  worn  close  about  the  neck,  at  some  distance 
above  the  dress.  Ruffles  basted  into  the  neck  was 
the  next  style,  leading  up  to  low  collars  of  the 
dress  material. 

Knitting  machines  had  not  been  invented  and 
"Jersey"  garments  were  not  for  sale. 

Summer  and  winter  dresses  for  little  girls,  under 
fifteen,  were  made  with  "half-low"  necks,  and  "puffed 
sleeves"  at  the  shoulder.  Along  sleeved  apron  was 
commonly  worn  in  cold  weather,  and  very  "dressy" 
girls  wore  white  undersleeves  extending  from  the 
wrist  to  meet  the  sleeve,  and  held  by  being  tucked 
under  the  tight  band.  No  guimpes  were  ever  seen. 
When  I  first  went  to  school  I  wore  a  dress  almost 
to  my  ankles  and  white  pantalets  of  the  same  length 
or  longer.  Two  older  girls  were  considered  the 
leaders  of  fashion  in  our  school.  Their  pantalets 
were  made  of  the  same  material  as  the  dresses  with 
which  they  were  worn.  Mother  refused  to  let  me 
follow  the  fashion  which  she  said  had  long  ago  been 
discarded  by  my  older  sisters. 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  83 

Those  were  not  the  days  of  many  styles,  nor  the 
days  when  the  prevailing  style  was  modified  to  suit 
individuals.  I  have  distinct  recollections  of  a 
milliner's  well  fitted  show  room  at  North  Natick. 
It  held  just  two  kinds  of  large  bonnets,  and  two 
shapes  in  children's  hats.  The  broad-brimmed,  low- 
crowned  "leghorn  flats"  must  be  trimmed  with 
wide  white  ribbon  and  long  feathers.  The  hideous 
white  straw  "visor  caps"  must  be  trimmed  with 
narrow,  colored  ribbon,  a  band  around  the  crown 
ending  in  a  rosette  among  the  "artificial  flowers" 
clustered  above  the  visor.  My  sister  once  brought 
from  Newport  pretty,  expensive  hats  of  the  latest 
New  York  style,  small  leghorn  hats  with  a  fringe 
of  straw  "dangles"  around  the  edge  of  the  brim. 
Such  misery  as  my  little  sister  and  I  suffered  during 
that  summer !  All  the  girls  ridiculed  our  queer 
hats,  and  no  idea  of  latest  fashion  could  be  impressed 
upon  them.  This  was  before  the  days  of  paper 
patterns,  pattern  sheets,  and  fashion  books.  For 
many  years  our  new  dresses  were  one  year  ahead 
of  Dover  fashions  and  we  had  a  bitter  experience 
in  being  conspicuously  out  of  fashion. 

Everybody  wore  pumpkin  hoods,  except  for 
dress  occasions  and  church.  They  were  usually 
made  of  silk,  in  melon  shape,  with  ribbon  bows  and 
strings.  Loosely  knit  "clouds'"  three  yards  long, 


84.  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

usually  of  white  or  chinchilla  worsted,  were  worn 
for  years  by  both  old  and  young,  twisted  round 
and  round  the  head,  being  considered  "dressy" 
articles  of  comfort. 

When  voluminous  and  distended  skirts  were  in 
vogue,  before  "hooped  petticoats"  were  worn, 
women  often  put  on  six  or  seven  white  petticoats 
at  once,  all  full  length  and  stiffly  starched.  How 
cumbrous  their  bulk,  and  how  burdensome  their 
weight ! 

Hooped  skirts  were  designed  to  obtain  the 
effect  without  the  inconvenience.  A  white  cotton 
skirt  was  made  with  a  half  inch  hem  at  the  bottom, 
and  above,  seven  or  eight  half  inch  tucks.  Rattan 
sticks  of  graduated  lengths  were  run  into  hem  and 
tucks.  The  canes  did  not  meet  at  the  front  by 
eight  or  ten  inches,  thus  allowing  for  overlapping 
when  the  wearer  sat  down  or  passed  through  a 
doorway.  "Skeleton  hooped  skirts,"  with  flat  steel 
hoops,  were  soon  invented,  and  one  style  followed 
another  with  great  rapidity. 

"Raglans,"  the  universal  overcoats  worn  by  gen- 
tlemen, such  as  were  worn  by  Lord  Raglan  after  the 
loss  of  his  arm  in  the  Crimea,  and  cloaks  with  rag- 
Ian  sleeves  worn  by  ladies  came  in  about  1855- 

"Kossuth"  hats,  soft  felt,  were  generally  worn  at 
the  time  when  the  fame  of  Kossuth  went  everywhere. 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  b$ 

About  1860,  girls'  wide  brimmed  straw  hats  had 
a  long  narrow  ribbon  attached  to  the  crown 
band  in  front,  and  held  in  the  hand  or  fastened  to 
the  belt  so  as  to  bend  the  hat  brim  downward  over 
the  face.  This  ribbon  was  called  a  "bridle." 
"Our  shadow  selves." 

Paintings  and  portraits  in  oil,  if  good,  were  beyond 
the  reach  and  means  of  common  people.  Etchings 
and  steel  engravings  were  occasionally  seen.  Paul 
Revere's  Battle  of  Lexington,  and  his  Boston  Mas- 
sacre in  color  and  original  frame  hung  in  our  dining- 
room,  as  did  two  flat  black  frames  containing  col- 
ored prints  of  sentimental  beauties  of  a  bygone  day. 
Two  large  gilt  frames,  made  to  order  in  Boston  by 
Williams  and  Everett,  once  contained  certificates  of 
membership  in  the  Norfolk  Agricultural  Society, 
and  later  held  fine  chromos  of  scenes  in  water  colors, 
the  first  of  those  artistic  reproductions  whose  soft 
tints  and  pleasing  outlines  in  the  still  untarnished 
frames  are  admired  to-day.  Crayon  and  pencil 
sketches  were  found  here  and  there,  and  so  were 
cut  paper  silhouettes. 

In  1839  Daguerre  announced  his  discovery  of  the 
effect  of  light  upon  silver,  and  in  the  course  of  a 
few  years  "daguerreotype  likenesses"  became  com- 
mon. Daguerreotype  saloons  upon  wheels  were 
drawn  from  town  to  town,  and  they  remained  in 


86  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

favorable  localities  until  everybody  in  the  neighbor- 
hood had  an  opportunity  to  be  taken.  Then,  in- 
deed we  saw  ourselves  as  others  saw  us,  when  dressed 
in  our  best.  No  attempt  at  posing  or  artistic  effect 
would  have  been  tolerated  by  the  severe  critics, 
among  whom  the  most  severe  were  the  sitters  for  a 
"good  likeness."  These  daguerreotypes  cost  sev- 
enty-five cents  each,  and  sometimes  more,  exclusive 
of  the  leather  covered  "case."  For  an  extra  con- 
sideration the  pictures  were  "touched  up"  in  colors. 
The  "case"  before  me  contains  a  group  on  one  plate. 
My  younger  sister  in  a  pale  blue  dress  sits  in  her  red- 
cheeked  mother's  lap,  and  my  yellow  gown,  which  I 
never  possessed,  shows  to  great  advantage  as  I  stand 
by  her  side.  My  likeness  "aged  six  months,"  is  in 
an  open  oval  locket,  at  the  back  of  which,  in  a  place 
for  the  purpose,  are  entwined  two  locks  of  hair. 

Daguerreotypes  gave  place  to  Ambrotypes,  about 
1855.  The  new  process  in  skilful  hands,  gave  soft, 
pleasing  pictures. 

Then  came  the  period  of  "tin  types."  Inch  square 
tintype  pictures  of  all  degrees  of  hideousness  were 
"taken"  by  bushels  wherever  a  saloon  took  its 
station.  For  serious  purposes,  larger  plates  were 
used  and  the  results  were  somewhat  better. 

Photography  by  collodion  process  dates  back  to 
1850-54,  and  came  gradually  into  use.  Photographs 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  8j 

at  first  were  invariably  "carte  visite  size,"  and  it  was 
a  long  time  before  we  heard  of  "cabinet  size." 
Only  one  daguerreotype  or  ambrotype  likeness  was 
obtained  at  a  sitting,  but  by  means  of  photography  a 
negative  once  obtained  could  be  copied  indefinitely. 

"For  there  no  noisy  railway  speeds 
Its  torch-race,  scattering  smoke  and  gleeds." 

To  ride  with  father  was  a  treat  enjoyed  by  the 
children  in  turn.  Medfield  lay  five  miles  to  the 
southwest,  and  business  often  called  my  father  to 
Mr.  Lorenzo  Harding's  saw  mill  and  farm,  where 
there  were  children  of  our  own  age. 

Being  agent  for  the  Dedham  Mutual  Fire  Insur- 
ance Company,  my  father  went  to  Dedham  at  regu- 
lar intervals,  and  being  also  a  Justice  of  Peace  he 
had  business  at  the  Court  House.  Up  to  this  time 
no  railroad  passed  through  Dover,  and  we  were 
obliged  to  go  to  Readville  to  meet  friends  from 
New  York  or  Newport,  and  to  Wellesley  (then 
West  Needham)  or  North  Natick  to  meet  Boston 
trains.  Bailey's  stage  ran  from  South  Natick  to 
West  Needham,  having,  I  suppose,  run  to  Boston 
before  the  railroad  was  built.  The  first  train  on 
the  Boston  and  Worcester  R.  R.  ran  to  West  New- 
ton in  1833.  When  the  road  was  completed  as  far 
as  West  Needham  or  Natick,  the  event  was  cele- 
brated by  a  barbecue  which  my  mother  and  father, 


88  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

with  all  the  world,  attended.  They  also  attended 
the  "Opening"  of  the  Cochituate  Aqueduct,  held 
at  Cochituate  Pond,  in  1848,  to  celebrate  the 
completion  of  the  aqueduct  which  furnished  the 
first  water  supply  to  the  city  of  Boston. 

From  our  house  we  could  see  the  Air  Line  R.  R. 
embankment,  and  I  saw  the  first  train  that  ran 
from  Boston  to  Medfield. 

The  nearest  grist  mill  was  at  South  Natick,  two 
and  one-half  miles  north.  Groceries,  hardware,  and 
dry  goods  could  be  obtained  at  South  Natick,  and 
the  barber  and  tailor  were  sometimes  employed. 
We  usually  made  calls  upon  Aunt  Kingsbury  or 
Cousin  Leonard's  family,  while  my  father  went 
from  place  to  place  in  the  village.  At  North 
Natick  were  larger  stores  of  every  description.  I 
recall  going  there  for  dentistry,  millinery,  cloaks, 
shoes,  paper-hangings,  carpets,  and  furniture. 

Two  or  three  times  each  year  father  and  mother, 
with  one  favored  child,  went  to  West  Dedham,  now 
Westwood,  "to  trade"  at  Ellis  Gay's  store.  Mr. 
Gay  lived  in  a  well-preserved  old  farm  house,  in 
one  portion  of  which  Mrs.  Gay  and  Mr.  Gay's  sister 
carried  on  a  unique  and  popular  store.  From  their 
often  renewed  and  well  selected  stock,  my  mother 
was  accustomed  to  buy  sheeting,  shirting,  towelling 
calico,  gingham,  blue  denim,  table  cloths,  cotton 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  89 

and  woolen  yarn,  cotton  batting,  ticking,  "linen 
for  bosoms,"  and  "hanks"  of  thread,  besides  "pins 
by  the  pound,"  fans,  combs,  brushes,  "round  combs," 
umbrellas,  and  parasols. 

Meanwhile  the  children  belonging  to  the  several 
groups  of  customers  peered  into  mysterious  nooks 
and  cupboards,  caught  glimpses  of  the  kitchen 
where  commonplace  housework  was  actually  going 
on,  or  sat  by  the  huge  fire  place  trying  to  decide 
whether  peppermint  pipe  would  prove  a  better  in- 
vestment than  cinnamon  hearts  in  return  for  our 
precious  "five  cents  to  spend." 

Purchases  made,  the  bill  "footed  up,"  money 
paid,  and  unwieldy  bundles  stowed  in  the  sleigh 
box  or  under  the  wagon  seat,  we  were  ready  to 
pay  an  hour's  visit  to  Mr.  Nathan  Phillips,  and, 
incidentally,  to  pay  our  childish  respects  to  Mrs. 
Phillips's  cookies  and  preserves. 

A  few  steps  from  Mr.  Phillips'  house  was  Mr. 
Lusha  Baker's  crockery  store,  a  large  front  room 
crowded  with  earthern  ware  and  China  of  every 
sort,  including  many  "odd"  and  damaged  pieces. 
My  mother's  selection  was  in  the  line  of  pie-plates, 
and  baking  dishes.  I  have  now  a  small  squat  black 
pitcher  which  was  bought  there. 

"Pilfshire,"  a  wood  lot  in  the  east  part  of  the 
town  was  on  a  cross  road  beyond  Deacon  Chick- 


go  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

ering's.  The  Deacon's  grand-daughters  were  our 
friends,  and  we  always  called  to  see  them  instead 
of  going  on  to  the  woods  where  my  father  in- 
spected "fire  wood"  and  fencing  logs. 

Hunnewell's  Gardens  in  West  Needham,  now 
Wellesley,  attracted  visitors  from  far  and  near.  It 
was  the  first  show  place  in  the  vicinity.  Once  or 
twice  a  year  we  used  to  visit  this  Italian  Garden, 
and  admire  the  flowers,  the  terraces,  and  Lake 
Waban.  Mr.  Hunnewell  died  in  1902,  aged  ninety- 
two  years. 

My  father  was  one  of  those  interested  in  the 
formation  of  the  Norfolk  Agricultural  Society, 
whose  annual  Cattle  Show  was  held  at  Dedham. 
My  mother  was  a  member  of  the  Society,  as  were 
my  youngest  sister  and  myself.  We  all  went  to 
the  Cattle  Show,  and  inspected  the  fruit,  vegeta- 
bles, and  fancy  work  exhibits,  while  my  father 
met  with  the  several  committees  to  which  he 
belonged. 

He  "entered"  various  exhibits,  and  received  a 
number  of  premiums  for  both  animals  and  produce. 
As  he  made  a  specialty  of  "reclaiming  meadow 
and  swamp  lands,"  members  of  that  committee 
came  to  view  his  fields,  and  that  meant  entertain- 
ing the  gentlemen  at  dinner.  My  father  took  care, 
of  course,  that  every  part  of  his  farm  should  be  in 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  91 

the  best  possible  condition  and  order.  When  my 
Grandmother  saw  him  clearing  up  the  already  tidy 
dooryard  she  would  say :  "Yes,  Hiram,  it  is  a  good 
thing  to  have  the  Agricultural  men  come  once  in  a 
while."  The  Hon.  Marshall  P.  Wilder  was  one  of 
the  founders  of  the  Society,  and  its  staunch  sup- 
porter. After  years  saw  horse-racing  and  various 
amusements  the  important  features  of  the  Show, 
the  place  of  meeting  was  changed  to  Readville, 
and  my  father  ceased  to  take  an  active  part  in  its 
proceedings. 

At  the  breaking  out  of  the  Civil  War,  enlisted 
troops  from  Dover  were  encamped  at  Readville 
before  being  sent  to  the  frotit.  We  paid  a  visit  to 
the  camp,  although  no  relatives  were  among  the 
soldiers. 

About  twice  each  year  we  went  to  Boston  by 
carriage.  The  horse  was  stabled  near  Faneuil 
Hall,  father  went  in  one  direction,  and  mother 
took  us  to  Hovey's,  Whitney's,  and  Newell's  shoe 
store.  Mrs.  Haven  had  been  the  popular  restaurant 
keeper,  but  we  were  accustomed  to  seek  Copeland's 
and  its  fountain,  on  Tremont  Row. 

' '  That  which  lured  us  once,  now  lureth  not.  " 

Hannibal,  the  famous  elephant,  was  exhibited  in 
Barnum's  Menagerie  at  North  Natick.  I  have 
never  forgotten  the  immense  tent  and  the  great 


$2  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

number  of  caged  animals,  nor  my  surprise  at  find- 
ing the  living  animals  to  look  so  exactly  like  their 
pictures  that  they  were  only  mildly  interesting. 
Hannibal  himself  was  the  chief  performer  in  the 
small  ring. 

One  Fourth  of  July,  my  sister  Eveline  and  her 
husband  took  me  to  Boston,  where  we  saw  Tom 
Thumb  at  the  Museum,  and  viewed  the  fireworks 
on  the  Common. 

About  1858  or  1860  a  Band  of  Hope  was  organ- 
ized. I  have  forgotten  who  was  the  local  leader 
under  the  Rev.  Edwin  Thompson,  advocate  and 
prime  mover.  All  the  children  of  the  town  at- 
tended the  regular  meetings  which  were  held  in  the 
"Town  House."  We  signed  a  pledge,  promising 
"to  abstain  from  the  use  of  all  intoxicating  liquors 
as  a  beverage,  from  the  use  of  tobacco,  and  from 
all  profanity."  We  had  blue  ribbon  badges,  and 
song  books  for  use  in  our  meetings.  The  copy 
before  me  is  entitled  "Thompson's  Band  of  Hope 
Melodies, "and  bears  the  date  1860.  The  following 
stanzas  were  among  our  favorites.  Tune,  "Susan- 
nah, don't  you  cry." 

"There  is  a  good  time  coming, 

Though  we  cannot  fix  the  date, 
But  yet  'tis  surely  on  the  way, 

At  telegraphic  rate. 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  93 

What  though  the  dram  shops  do  increase 

And  pauper  taxes  too, 
We  should  not  let  our  efforts  cease 

While  there's  so  much  to  do.  " 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Hanks  came  to  Dover  several 
times  with  his  Chart  and  Lecture  upon  the  "Black 
Valley  Railroad."  The  Chart  represented  the 
successive  steps  and  stages  in  a  drunkard's  career, 
from  youth  and  innocence  to  a  drunkard's  grave. 
There  were  evening  lectures  delivered  in  the 
Orthodox  Meeting  House. 

When  a  division  of  the  Sons  of  Temperance  was 
organized,  I  was  over  fourteen  years  of  age  and 
eligible  for  membership.  Initiated  into  the  mys- 
teries of  the  order,  my  connection  with  the  society 
was  brief,  and  I  have  forgotten  all  the  proceedings 
in  which  I  took  part. 

Among  home  diversions  were  checkers,  fox  and 
geese,  and  jackstraws,  the  latter  being  literally  rye 
straws  and  not  carved  from  wood  or  bone.  Jack- 
stones  were  common  playthings.  I  was  expert  at 
the  game  which  I  carried  to  "high  numbers." 
"Stick  knife"  was  a  boy's  game,  but  girls  were 
condescendingly  admitted  to  the  game  and  the  use 
of  the  knives.  Jump  ropes,  swings,  and  kites  re- 
turned with  the  seasons.  I  had  a  good  sled,  and 
"coasting"  was  fine  sport,  solitary  in  my  case. 


p^  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

• 

When  a  hard  crust  formed  on  deep  snow,  I  could 
start  from  the  dooryard  and  reach  the  third  field, 
passing  over  the  tops  of  fences.  On  the  edge  of 
South  Natick,  "Where  the  flooded  Charles  writes 
the  last  letter  of  his  name,"  was  "Ben  Sawin's 
Grove"  in  which  picnics  were  held  every  summer. 

Auction  sales  of  household  goods  and  farming 
tools  were  sometimes  advertised,  but  they  were 
outside  my  experience.  Aside  from  the  charm  of 
buying  at  a  low  price,"  men  found  an  attraction  in 
the  fact  that  "everybody"  would  be  there.  Crack- 
ers and  cheese  were  always  furnished  as  a  mid-day 

luncheon. 

"Science  and  Song." 

For  many  successive  years,  Prof.  William  Tilden 
of  Medfield  used  to  teach  an  evening  singing  school 
in  the  Baptist  Chapel.  He  was  a  good  teacher,  as 
I  realized  years  afterwards,  when  I  was  obliged  to 
drill  my  class  in  the  theory  of  music,  after  the  weekly 
lesson  had  been  given  by  the  director  of  music  in 
in  the  public  schools.  Each  of  Mr.  Tilden's  pupils 
paid  a  small  fee,  I  think  $1.50  for  the  course  of  les- 
sons, and  a  new  singing  book  was  purchased  each 
winter.  One  winter  we  sang  from  the  Diapason,  one 
of  those  books  whose  pages  are  wide  from  right 
to  left,  conveniently  held  by  two  persons  singing 
from  one  book.  The  first  part  contained  the  scale 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  95 

exercises  and  lessons  use;  then  came  the  songs,  glees, 
and  rounds,  followed  by  hymns  and  anthems. 

Mr.  Tilden  played  the  violin  accompaniment, 
when  he  was  not  beating  time  with  his  bow, 
or  using  it  as  a  pointer  in  teaching  from  the  black- 
board. While  he  is  not  now  engaged  in  teaching, 
he  is  actively  interested  in  Medfield  affairs. 
"Everything  for  convenience,  nothing  for  ambition." 

Dover  had  churches,  schoolhouses,  and  a  hearse- 
house  in  the  town  cemetery,  but  no  hotel  or  other 
public  buildings  at  the  time  of  which  I  write.  The 
basement  story  of  the  Unitarian  Meeting  House 
was  the  place  where  town  meetings  and  elections 
were  held,  and  it  could  be  hired  for  entertain- 
ments. 

Nonantum  Hall  at  Charles  River  Village  was  a 
suitable  place  for  dancing  parties,  fairs  and  other 
festivities. 

The  Post  Office  was  kept  in  Mr.  Isaac  Howe's 
house  at  the  Centre,  a  building  which  was  an  old- 
time  tavern  kept  by  Mr.  Howe's  ancestors.  Mr. 
Howe's  son  George  succeeded  him  as  Postmaster, 
and  the  office  was  removed  to  the  Railroad  Station. 

Dwellers  at  the  foot  of  Pegan  Hill  hired  a  man 
to  bring  the  mail  once  each  day  to  the  "Corner" 
store,  where  it  was  placed  in  boxes  and  distributed 
by  the  store-keeper. 


g6  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

A  circulating  library  had  its  place  in  Isaac 
Howe's  house  from  some  remote  period.  It  was 
always  spoken  of  as  the  Town  Library,  but  no 
books  were  issued  after  I  was  able  to  read.  My 
grandfather  was  fond  of  books,  and  my  mother 
habitually  read  aloud  to  him  while  he  worked  at 
his  bench.  In  this  way  she  read  almost  every 
book  in  the  library  before  she  was  twenty  years 
old,  prose,  poetry,  history,  Shakespeare,  Cooper, 
Rollin,  and  many  more. 

"Martello  Towers  that  protect  our  coast." 

The  Examining  School  Committee  consisted  of 
three  members,  one  of  whom  was  chosen  for  a  term 
of  three  years,  at  the  regular  "March  Meeting." 
Each  of  the  four  districts,  West,  North,  East,  and 
Centre,  chose  a  "Prudential  Committee  Man" 
whose  duty  it  was  to  hire  a  teacher,  secure  her 
boarding  place,  take  charge  of  the  school  property, 
provide  for  fuel,  and  care  of  fires.  The  School 
Committee  examined  the  teachers,  issued  certifi- 
cates, and  examined  the  Registers  to  see  that  they 
were  "kept"  as  required  by  the  State  Board  of 
Education.  This  committee  authorized  text  books 
and  courses  of  study. 

I  cannot  remember  the  time  when  I  could  not 
read,  but  I  know  that  Sargent's  Second  Reader 
and  Emerson's  Elementary  Arithmetic  were  in  my 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  yj 

hands  when  I  sat  on  the  bench  in  front  of  the  desk 
nearest  the  platform  in  the  North  District  School 
house.  The  Centre  School  House,  at  that  time  had 
a  sloping  floor,  ascending  from  the  teacher's  desk 
to  the  rear  of  the  room,  and  the  benches  were  so 
long  that  six  pupils  sat  at  one  desk.  The  North 
District  having  been  "set  off,"  it  took  just  pride  in 
its  school  and  school  house,  which  in  construction, 
condition,  and  equipments  was  said  to  be  excelled 
by  none  for  miles  around.  Playgrounds  and  fences 
were  well  kept.  One  corner  of  the  yard  was 
shaded  by  two  beautiful  trees,  while  a  fine  old  elm 
stood  near  the  road,  between  the  trees  at  either 
corner  of  the  fence.  Boys  and  girls  played  "round 
ball,"  and  "four  old  cat"  in  the  adjoining  field,  and 
ate  their  dinners  and  built  playhouses  in  the  old 
pine  grove  just  beyond.  Berries  of  every  kind, 
sweet  fern  seeds,  spruce  gum,  black  birch  bark, 
checkerberries  and  their  aromatic  leaves,  all  these 
delicacies  were  free  to  all  who  sought  them  in  the 
"hour's  nooning."  All  sorts  of  wild  flowers  grew  in 
the  deep  woods,  pastures,  and  lowlands,  and  in 
roadside  thickets  and  corners.  The  "Cleaveland 
Lot"  was  our  school  garden,  and  the  noon  inter- 
mission our  time  for  physical  culture  and  nature 
study,  fifty  years  before  those  terms  were  on  every 
tongue.  Until  my  fourteenth  year,  I  seldom  failed 


$8  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

to  attend  school  the  two  terms  in  each  year.  Be- 
sides the  lessons  which  I  was  required  to  learn  and 
recite,  like  many  other  children,  I  mastered  by  my- 
self several  subjects  as  contained  in  books  which  I 
found  in  the  "School  Library,"  a  small  case  of 
books  at  one  end  of  the  teacher's  platform.  Cut- 
ter's Anatomy  and  Physiology  was  one  of  those 
books,  and  Greenleaf's  National  Arithmetic  was 
another.  This  arithmetic  contained  explanations, 
rules  and  answers,  and  in  my  leisure  I  "ciphered" 
through  the  book,  in  course.  Arithmetical  and 
Geometrical  Progression,  Permutation,  Alligation, 
Mensuration,  and  all  the  rest.  One  of  the  teachers 
was  "good"  in  arithmetic.  All  my  life  I  have 
been  grateful  to  her  for  teaching  me  to  "reckon  in 
my  head."  We  used  Colburn's  Intellectual  Arith- 
metic, the  early  edition,  of  course,  and  in  its  use 
we  were  drilled  to  listen,  comprehend,  retain,  and 
reason.  We  enjoyed  the  recitation  period,  as  a 
college  crew  enjoys  a  race.  Under  this  teacher, 
the  class  formed  in  line  across  the  room,  and  the 
teacher  read  from  the  previously  assigned  chapter 
a  problem  which  the  pupil  at  the  head  was 
expected  to  "solve  and  explain"  later.  When  she 
had  read  as  many  examples  as  there  were  pupils 
in  the  class,  the  head  scholar  was  called  upon  to 
recite.  First  of  all  he  must  repeat  the  example, 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  pp 

"word  for  word"  as  it  had  been  read  by  the  teacher. 
To  change  a  syllable  was  to  fail.  Succeeding  in 
this  he  then  analyzed  the  problem  according  to  the 
model  given  for  bringing  out  the  principle  involved, 
and  concluded  with,  "Therefore,  if"  etc.  These 
lessons  were  so  graded  that  one  lesson  prepared 
the  way  for  the  next,  and  failures  in  class  were 
rare. 

"Spelling  matches"  were  a  Friday  afternoon  ex- 
ercise. "Spelling  Schools"  were  occasionally  held 
in  the  school  house  on  winter  evenings,  and 
matches  were  sometimes  arranged  between  the 
pupils  in  adjoining  districts.  Under  the  direction 
of  enthusiastic  teachers,  these  contests  aroused 
general  interest.  The  room  was  lighted  by  lamps, 
lanterns,  and  candles  carried  from  our  homes. 
One  boy  and  one  girl  were  appointed  as  leaders, 
and  they  took  turns  in  choosing  from  among  the 
participants.  When  all  were  chosen,  the  two  lines 
faced  each  other,  and  the  teacher  began  to  give 
out  the  words.  A  failure  made,  the  word  was 
passed  from  one  side  to  the  other  until  spelled 
correctly.  Sometimes  it  was  spelled  on  the  side 
where  it  was  missed,  and  the  "side  saved."  If  the 
other  side  spelled  it,  the  leader  was  entitled  to  a 
choice  of  pupils  from  the  losing  side.  When  all 
were  at  last  ranged  on  the  winning  side,  they  were 


ioo  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

"spelled  down."  One  after  another  missed  and 
took  their  seats.  Sometimes  "good  spellers"  would 
hold  their  places  through  page  after  page  of  poly- 
syllables, and  then  "catch  words"  were  considered 
"fair."  To  avoid  delay  in  case  of  appeal,  the  reg- 
ular text  book  in  spelling  was  taken  as  authority. 

Speaking  pieces  was  a  popular  exercise  on  Fri- 
day afternoons.  On  rare  occasions  we  "spoke 
dialogues,"  and  happy  were  those  who  were  allowed 
to  take  part.  We  "wrote  compositions"  upon  such 
subjects  as  school,  summer,  winter,  and  honesty, 
but  we  realized  no  connection  between  our  compo- 
sition work  and  the  "passing  lesson"  in  Green's 
Grammar.  Nevertheless,  in  learning  the  parsing 
lessons,  we  learned  to  look  for  certain  forms  and 
uses  of  words,  to  know  them  when  we  saw  them, 
and  to  give  reasons  for  our  classifications.  We 
studied  Cornell's  Geographies,  and  Quackenbos's 
History.  One  summer  our  teacher  taught  the  girls 
all  kinds  of  fancy  work,  and  the  older  girls  made 
some  elaborate  articles.  I  learned  crocheting,  and 
made  a  card  basket  from  fine  cotton  thread,  shaped 
and  starched  upon  an  earthern  dish.  I  also  knit  a 
round  "mat"  or  doily.  On  the  last  day  of  the 
term  our  work  was  displayed  to  visitors  in  the 
school  room.  Among  my  teachers  were  Miss  Jo- 
sephine Mansfield  of  Lowell,  Miss  Electa  P.  Butler 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  101 

of  Maine,  Miss  Fannie  Chute,  and  Miss  Fannie 
Hildreth,  now  Mrs.  Bacon.  Miss  Martha  Plum- 
mer,  now  Mrs.  Everett,  taught  at  the  Centre. 
During  one  long  vacation,  I  went  every  day  to  her 
home  for  private  lessons  in  English  Grammar. 
How  I  happened  to  do  this,  I  do  not  know.  It 
may  have  been  my  own  idea,  and,  possibly,  it  was 
my  mother's  wish  for  me  to  improve  my  time  under 
a  good  teacher.  At  all  events,  I  studied  Grammar 
to  some  purpose,  and  I  well  remember  the  day 
when  the  mystery  of  "false  syntax"  on  the  last 
pages  of  Quackenbos's  Grammar  became  a  mystery 
solved.  The  East  District,  "Strawberry  Hill,"  had 
a  "good  teacher"  one  winter,  and  I  was  allowed  to 
be  her  pupil.  Deacon  Bigelow's  farm  house  was 
my  boarding  place  from  Monday  morning  until 
Friday  night,  and  my  father  took  me  back  and 
forth  each  week.  Miss  Hawes,  the  teacher,  also 
boarded  there.  During  the  spring  of  1863,  I 
attended  the  Girls'  High  School  in  Newport,  R.  I. 
during  a  three  months'  visit  to  my  sister  Parthena. 
The  next  fall,  with  other  boys  and  girls  from  Dover, 
I  attended  the  High  School  at  "Needham  Plain," 
going  by  rail  every  day.  This  high  school  was 
newly  organized,  and  was  nothing  more  than  an 
attempt  to  make  the  highest  grade  possible  out  of 
the  material  gathered  from  the  ungraded  district 


102  In   Dover  on  the  Charles 

schools.  The  highest  class,  of  which  I  was  one, 
studied  the  usual  high  school  branches,  Latin, 
Geometry,  etc.  That  year  the  sessions  were  held 
in  one  room  of  a  district  school  house  some  distance 
from  the  railroad  station.  The  Principal  and  sole 
instructor  was  the  Rev.  Silas  Bundy  Rawson,  of 
Maine.  Later  the  school  was  removed  to  a  hall, 
over  the  Post  Office  near  the  railroad  station,  and 
Mr.  Rawson  was  succeeded  by  Mr.  Albion  Gate. 

''And  the  hillside  where  the  Meeting-house 
With  the  wooden  belfry  stood.  " 

The  Unitarian  Meeting  House,  the  third  to  be 
built  upon  its  site,  Meeting  House  Hill,  was  dedi- 
cated in  1839.  It  was  one  mile  from  our  house  by 
road,  much  less  through  Uncle  Rufus's  fields  by 
the  beaten  path  which  came  out  by  the  "dam."  The 
square,  white  structure  had  then,  as  now,  green 
blinds,  a  steeple,  and  a  bell.  A  double  row  of 
horse  sheds  stood  between  the  edifice  and  the  en- 
croaching "pine  woods."  Grandmother  Griggs  was 
a  member  of  this  church,  and  the  family  were  regu- 
lar attendants  upon  its  services.  The  Meeting 
House  was  comparatively  new  when  I  frequented 
it,  and  fully  up  to  the  standard  of  the  times. 
When  the  choir  rose  to  sing,  of  course  the  congre- 
gation rose  also,  and  stood  with  backs  to  the  pul- 
pit, gazing  from  the  hymn  books  to  the  "singers" 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  zqj 

seats"  in  the  organ  loft  at  the  rear  of  the  room. 
Most  of  the  older  men  stood  throughout  the  long 
prayer. 

My  Grandmother  had  seen  and  heard  much  of 
Mr.  Nettleton,  the  famous  revival  preacher  of  Con- 
necticut, and  she  was  much  distressed  by  the 
strange  doctrines  which  began  to  be  preached 
from  the  pulpit  of  the  Dover  church  as  the  Unita- 
rian movement  spread  to  that  community  and 
congregation.  The  Rev.  Benj.  Caryl,  "Priest  Caryl," 
was  for  forty-nine  years  pastor  of  the  church.  I 
have  a  manuscript  sermon  which  he  preached  in 
1802.  In  1812  the  Rev.  Ralph  Sanger  became  the 
pastor,  and  remained  in  the  pastorate  almost  fifty 
years.  I  remember  watching  his  tall,  dignified 
figure,  as  he  came  "up  across"  to  make  a  call  at 
our  house,  or  to  pass  through  our  yard,  up  the 
mill  house  steps,  on  his  way  to  the  "west  end  of 
the  town."  He  was  a  man  of  learning,  refinement, 
and  unvarying  courtesy,  and  of  great  influence  in 
the  community.  He  was  succeeded  by  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Baker,  and  he  was  followed  in  the  pulpit  by 
the  Rev.  Horatio  Alger,  Jr.,  the  writer  of  books 
for  boys.  Mr.  Alger's  father  was  the  long-time 
pastor  at  South  Natick.  The  Rev.  George  Proctor 
was  the  last  pastor  of  whom  I  have  any  knowledge. 

Those   who  became  dissatisfied  with    Unitarian 


104.  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

doctrine  left  the  First  Church,  and  formed  the 
Orthodox  Society,  building  a  chapel  on  Meeting 
House  Hill  opposite  the  old  church.  My  older 
sisters  united  with  this  church.  The  Rev.  John 
Haskell  was  the  pastor  whom  I  knew,  possibly  the 
first  placed  over  the  church.  His  parsonage  was 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  the  house  since  known  as 
the  Dunn  place.  One  of  the  greatest  treats  of  my 
childhood  was  "going  down  across"  to  spend  an 
hour  at  Mrs.  Haskell's.  She  was  young  and  very 
beautiful,  and  I  am  sure,  greatly  admired  and 
loved.  I  was  at  one  time  visiting  my  oldest  sister 
when  Mrs.  Haskell  called.  My  sister  had  just  then 
given  me  a  small  broom,  suited  to  my  height.  To 
show  off  the  new  broom,  and  myself,  I  set  up  a 
vigorous  sweeping  directly  in  front  of  the  visitor. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  way  in  which  Mrs.  Haskell 
said:  "I  see,  Alice,  that  you  wish  to  be  thought  a 
good  housekeeper,  but  you  must  not  forget  that 
very  neat  people  get  their  sweeping  done  before  it 
is  time  for  company  to  arrive."  Since  then  I  have 
found  it  true  that  really  clean  people  take  neatness 
for  granted,  and  do  not  obtrude  their  ideas  of 
cleanliness. 

Mr.  Haskell  survived  his  wife  many  years,  and 
died  May  u,  1902. 

The  Rev.  T.  S.  Norton  succeeded  Mr.  Haskell. 


In   Dover  on  the  Charles 

His  children,  Cooley,  Gertie,  and  Lewis  were  our 
schoolmates  and  companions. 

About  1862,  Uncle  Sherman  Battle  removed  the 
Baptist  Chapel  from  Charles  River  Village  to  the 
"Corner,"  and  the  Springdale  Baptist  Church  was 
organized.  Students  fron  Newton  Theological 
Seminary  supplied  the  pulpit,  among  them  some  of 
the  best  known  divines  of  to-day.  Some  years  ago 
the  church  was  disbanded. 

The  nearest  Roman  Catholic  Church  was  at 
Saxonville,  eight  miles  distant. 

"But  when  ill  indeed, 
E'en  dismissing  the  doctor  don't  always  succeed." 

Dr.  Geo.  Caryl,  son  of  "Priest  Caryl,"  was  the 
only  resident  physician  which  Dover  has  had.  He 
practiced  there  form  1791  to  1829. 

Old  Dr.  Gallup  of  Medfield  was  a  typical  old- 
school  calomel-giving,  blood-letting  doctor,  of  whom 
I  heard  much,  though  I  saw  him  but  once. 

To  save  a  neighbor's  life,  my  father  and  mother 
once  rode  more  than  twenty  miles,  at  night  to 
Rockville,  a  part  of  Medway,  to  secure  the  services 
of  Dr.  Nathaniel  Miller,  the  famous  surgeon  who 
died  in  1850. 

Dr.  George  Townsend  of  South  Natick  was  our 
family  physician,  as  of  most  of  the  townspeople. 
Skilful  and  popular,  he  drove  his  fast  horses  and 


106  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

"sulky"  for  miles  around.  My  earliest  recollection 
is  of  the  time  when  he  advised  me  to  put  the  icicle, 
which  I  was  holding,  upon  the  stove  to  warm  it  a 
little.  I  regretted  taking  his  advice  then,  but  in 
after  years  I  owed  much  to  his  care  and  skill. 

One  reason  why  Dover  has  not  had  a  resident 
doctor  and  lawyer,  and  a  real  business  and  social 
centre,  is  that  the  outlying  districts  practically  form 
parts  of  the  adjacent  townships.  Many  families  at 
the  West  End  attended  church  in  Medfield,  used 
Medfield  Post  Office,  and  entered  into  the  social 
life  of  that  town.  Natick  and  Needham,  as  well  as 
Dedham,  were  the  real  homes  of  those  who  lived 
over  the  Dover  Line. 

"Strange  figures  of  the  long  ago, 
Come  out  and  take  their  places." 

Between  our  house  and  Uncle  Rufus's  wheel- 
wright shop  was  the  shop  of  Rudman,  the  black- 
smith. Mr.  Rudman  was  an  Englishman,  and  we 
took  delight  in  watching  him  "set  tires,"  and  hear- 
ing him  say,  "  'Eat  the  hiron  'ot,  Bill.  " 

William  Green,  who  came  from  Connecticut  to 
work  for  my  Grandfather,  married  Eliza,  the  house- 
maid. My  father  built  a  house  for  them  on  land 
adjoining  the  orchard,  and  afterward  sold  the 
premises  to  them.  In  those  days,  "to  live  upon 
hire"  was  considered  a  disgrace,  because  it  "showed 
a  lack  somewhere." 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

Eliza  had  marked  characteristics.  Her  "posy  gard- 
ing"  was  a  wilderness  of  blossoming  shrubs  and 
plants,  luxuriating  in  the  rich,  well-tilled  soil  that 
William  was  wont  to  prepare.  Her  living  rooms 
were  crowded  with  growing  plants,  which  "came 
up,"  "slipped,"  or  "rooted"  at  her  will. 

She  made  "monuments,"  resembling  that  on 
Bunker  Hill,  varying  in  height  from  six  inches  to 
three  feet.  Base  and  shaft  were  "turned"  out  of 
solid  wood,  and  then  covered  with  putty  or  white 
lead,  in  which  were  imbedded  sea  shells,  coral,  bits 
of  colored  glass,  broken  looking-glass,  glittering 
buttons,  mother-of-pearl,  sea  beans,  beads,  and 
pebbles.  Who  used  these  monuments  for  parlor 
ornaments  I  do  not  know,  but  many  were  sold  at 
prices  ranging  from  two  to  fifteen  dollars,  accord- 
ing to  size  and  beauty.  Picture  frames  of  all 
shapes  and  sizes  she  made  to  order.  Some  were  made 
of  sea  shells;  some  were  covered  with  kernels  of  red 
and  yellow  field  corn  ;  others  showed  a  pattern  in 
beans,  red,  white,  and  black  ;  scales  from  white 
pine  cones  were  arranged  to  over  lap  each  other, 
corner  rosettes  being  made  of  clustered  small 
cones  ;  autumn  leaves,  pressed  and  varnished,  were 
also  made  to  cover  frames,  or  grouped  upon  a  back- 
ground to  form  a  picture  for  the  frame.  By  means 
of  fine  wire  and  colored  worsteds  she  made  huge 


io8  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

bouquets  of  "worsted  flowers,"  which  were  bought 
and  placed  under  tall  glass  shades  upon  parlor 
centre  tables.  Wax  flowers  and  hair  flowers  had  a 
share  of  her  attention.  Dover  people  were  not  her 
patrons.  Most  of  her  orders  and  purchasers  came 
from  the  "city." 

It  was,  however,  the  fashion  to  display  hair 
flowers  under  glass^but  the  small  bouquet  which  we 
had  was  kept  in  a  cupboard.  Locks  of  hair  from 
the  head  of  each  member  of  a  family,  living  or 
dead,  were  combined  in  these  wreaths  or  bouquets. 
Some  member  of  the  family  was  always  ready  to 
tell  visitors  whose  hair  was  in  that  rose,  and  whose 
in  that  lily.  Snow  white  hair  and  bright  red 
tresses  "made  up  real  pretty."  About  1862  wax 
flower  making  was  a  desirable  accomplishment  for 
young  ladies. 

On  Sundays,  a  quaint,  bobbing  two-wheeled 
"shay"  came  by  our  house  from  the  west  part  of 
Dover.  As  I  recall  the  brother  and  sister  who  were 
its  occupants,  the  tall,  spare,  stiffly  erect  lady  might 
have  stepped  out  of  an  old  fashioned  novel.  Her 
large  grey  or  fawn  colored  silk  bonnet  had  a  soft 
white  ruching  in  its  high-peaked  front,  and  a  cor- 
ner wise  silk  shawl  draped  the  straight  brown  silk 
skirt. 

"Uncle  Joe  Larrabee,"   as  he  was  affectionately 


7«   Dover  on  the  Charles  log 

called,  was  a  conspicuous  figure  in  the  community, 
especially  in  the  meeting  house  where  he  occupied 
a  pew  near  the  pulpit,  and  always  stood  erect 
throughout  the  "long  prayer." 

Aunt  Fanny  in  her  prime  did  "tailoring,"  going 
from  house  to  house.  In  later  years  she  "kept 
house"  in  different  families  whose  heads  were  tem- 
porarily absent.  Rain  or  shine,  she  never  ventured 
abroad  without  her  large,  faded,  cotton  umbrella,  a 
protection  from  sun,  wind,  or  rain  as  occasion  re- 
quired. In  these  days  of  more  convenient  umbrel- 
las, we  have  followed  her  fashion.  Around  her 
black,  quaker  like  bonnet  a  long,  green  barege  veil 
was  tied  by  its  drawing  string.  When  not  hanging 
straight  down  over  her  face,  this  veil  was  thrown 
back  and  drawn  over  edgewise  so  as  to  hang  over 
one  shoulder,  as  was  the  prevailing  fashion  in  her 
younger  days. 

"Granny  Gould,"  when  I  first  knew  her,  was  an 
aged,  infirm  woman  who  lived  alone  in  an  ancient, 
gambrel-roofed  cottage  near  the  Old  Plain.  Grand- 
mother looked  after  her  in  a  neighborly  way,  and 
we  often  went  "over  across  lots"  to  carry  some  del- 
icacy and  inquire  for  her  welfare.  The  house,  like 
everything  in  its  three  low  rooms,  was  worn  and 
time  stained.  She  had  never  used  a  stove,  and  the 
fuel  which  fed  the  fire  upon  her  hearth  was  obtained 


no  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

from  the  peat  bogs  upon  her  own  premises.  She 
was  tall  and  large  in  frame,  though  much  bowed 
with  age;  her  black  eyes  had  not  lost  all  their  bril- 
liancy, and  still  flashed  under  her  wrinkled  brows 
shaded  by  the  brown  folds  of  a  turban  which  con- 
cealed her  hair.  Whenever  I  watched  her  harm- 
less domestic  incantations  with  pot-hook  and  crane, 
brass  kettle  and  iron  skillet,  poker  and  tongs,  as 
she  stooped  over  the  ash-strewn  hearth  before  the 
cavernous  fireplace,  she  always  seemed  to  me  a 
veritable  witch  of  the  story  books. 

One  morning  no  smoke  ascended  from  Granny 
Gould's  chimney,  and  we  learned  that  the  incanta- 
tions were  no  longer  needed,  for  her  life  of  strange 
and  troubled  experiences  was  ended. 


CHAPTER  FOUR. 

THE  RICHARDS  FAMILY. 

1.  Josiah  Richards,  born   1713,  died    1771,  mar- 
ried Hannah,  the  "H.  R."  of  relics,   died  October 
24,  1771. 

2.  Children  of  Josiah  and  Hannah:  Samuel,  1738; 
Moses,  1739;  Hannah,  1741;  Asa,  1743;  Sarah,  1745; 
Thaddeus,  1747;  Josiah,  1749;  Solomon,  1751;  Mary, 
1753;  Lucy,  1755,  married    Josiah  Battle  of  Dover; 
Abijah,  1757;  Lydia,  1759;  Jesse,  1761. 

THE   GRIGGS   FAMILY. 

1.  Nathan  Griggs,    Ashford,  Conn.,  married — , 
February  8,  1772. 

2.  Children  of  Nathan  and  -  — :  Lucy,  married 
Jared  Warner  Snow;  Phebe;  Abijah;  Reuben,  1782, 
married  Lucy  Battle,  Dover;  "Sibbil,"  married  Chap- 
man, second,  Parkhurst,  Conn. 

THE   SHERMAN   FAMILY. 

1.  Henry    Sherman,    Colchester   and    Dedham, 
England,  born  1580,  married  Agnes  Butler. 

2.  Henry,  son    of    Henry   and    Agnes,  married 
Susan  Hilles,  died  1610. 

3.  John,  son  of  Henry  and  Susan,  married  Grace 
Makin. 


H2  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

4.  Captain  John,  son  of  Henry  and  Grace,  Ded- 
ham,    England     1613,     married     Martha    Palmer, 
daughter  of  his  mother's  third  husband,  and  came 
to  Watertown,  Mass.  1634. 

5.  Joseph,    son    of  Captain    John  and  Martha, 
born  in  Watertown. 

6.  William,  son  of  Joseph  of  Watertown. 

7.  Roger,  son  of  William,  signed  Declaration  of 
Independence. 

Mehitable,  daughter   of   William,  born  1714, 
married  John  Battle,  Dover,  Mass.,  died  1804. 

THE   BATTLE   FAMILY. 

1.  John  Battle,  Dover,  married  Mehitable  Sher- 
man, died  1800,  aged  eighty-four. 

2.  Josiah,  son    of    John  and  Mehitable,  married 
Lucy  Richards,  died  1834,  aged  seventy-nine. 

3.  Children  of   Josiah    and    Lucy:    Betsy,  1782, 
married  John  Brown  of  Dover;  Lucy,  1785,  married 
Reuben  Griggs,    died  1864;    Josiah,    1787,   married 
first  Sukey ,  second  the  widow  Goulding;  Sher- 
man, 1791,  married  first  Hetty  -  — ,  second  Miranda 
Twitchell;  Rufus,  1794,  married  Lydia  Mann;  Roger 
Sherman,  1796,  married  Betsy  -  — . 

THE   WALKER   FAMILY. 

I.     Azariah  Walker,  probably  Marbors,  married 
Prudence  Pepper. 


In  Dover  on  the  Charles  nj 

2.  Emily,  daughter  of  Azariah  and  Prudence, 
married  Jonathan  Kingsbury,  South  Natick.  Their 
children  were,  Leonard,  Abbie,  Jonathan. 

Mary,  second  daughter,  married  Samuel  Jones. 

THE  JONES   FAMILY. 

1.  John  Alden,  England,  1599,  married  Priscilla 
Molines,  1621,  died  in  Plymouth,  1680. 

2.  John,  of  John  and  Priscilla,  Plymouth,  1622, 
married  Elizabeth  (Phillips)  Everill,    Boston,  1660, 
died  in  Boston,  1702. 

3.  John,  of  John  and  Elizabeth,  Boston,  1663, 
married  Elizabeth  Phelps,  died  1730.    He  was  Cap- 
tain of  a  schooner,  and  was  taken  captive  by  the 
French.     In  1764,  the  General  Court  granted  to  his 
heirs  a  tract  of  land  because  of  "his  extraordinary 
services  and  his  sufferings  during  a  long  and  tedious 
captivity." 

4.  Nathaniel,  of  Capt.  John  and  Elizabeth,  1700, 

married  Mary .     In  1731  he  owned  one  half 

of  a  house  on  Milk  Street,  Boston. 

5.  Elizabeth,  1729,  of  Nathaniel  and  Mary,  mar- 
ried Anthony  Jones  of  Hopkington  in  1747. 

6.  Nathaniel   Alden    Jones   of    Elizabeth    and 
Anthony  Jones,   Hopkington,   1748,  married  Lois 
Claflin  in  1770. 


114.  In  Dover  on  the  Charles 

7.  Samuel  Jones,  of  Nathaniel  and  Lois,  1777, 
married  first,  Mary  Walker,  second,  Lurana  Sawin. 

8.  Hiram  Walker  Jones,  of  Samuel  and  Mary, 
South  Natick,  1807,  married  Lucy  Griggs,  April  5, 

1830,  died  1876. 

9.  Children  of  Hiram  and  Lucy:  Eveline  Eames, 

1831,  married    1852,  died  1895;    Parthena    Griggs, 
1834,   married    1862,    died    1896;     Mary    Malvina, 
1839,  died,  l854:   Arabelle,  1845,  died  1847;  Alice 
Johnson,  1848;  Inez  Lenore,  1851;  Samuel  Waldo, 
1854,  died  1862. 

10.  Child  of  John  and  Eveline  Nichols:    Lucy 
Griggs,  East    Randolph,   1853,  married  Charles  S. 
Davison,  Elmira,  N.  Y.,  1873,  removed  to  Norfolk, 
Va.,  1905. 

Children  of  Charles  E.  Hammett,  Jr.  and  Par- 
thena: Waldo  Jones,  1864,  died,  1865;  Philip 
Melancthon,  1867,  married  Marie  Louise  Plack, 
Altoona,  Pa.,  1893,  lives  in  Portland,  Me. 

11.  Children  of  Charles  and  Lucy  Davison:  Eve- 
lyn Lucy,  married  Alvah  Nivison,  Caywood,  N.  Y., 
Nov.,    1904;    Alice  Lenore,  Philip   Nichols,   Ruth 
Lowe,  Charles  Morton,  Waldo  Burton. 

Children  of  Philip  and  Louise  Hammett :  Louis 
Plack,  Waldo  Bertram,  Helen. 

12.  Child  of  Alvah  and  Evelyn  Nivison :    John 
Beecher,  Dec.  23,  1905. 


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